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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25701715">The Boy in the Window</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus'>magisterpavus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>:), Age Difference, Alpha Allura (Voltron), Alpha Lotor (Voltron), Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Aphrodisiacs, Assassination Attempt(s), Betrayal, But also, Class Differences, Courtship, Declarations Of Love, Drama, Enthusiastic Consent, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Secrets, Feral Keith (Voltron), First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, Jealous Shiro (Voltron), Letters, M/M, Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omega Keith (Voltron), One-Sided Keith/Lotor (Voltron), Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Scenting, Sex Club, Sharing a Bed, Somnophilia, i promise the secret isn't the sex club that would be a v diff fic, mainly for hijinks, seven whole years. incredible. scandalous.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:33:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>104,184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25701715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Keith's father dies in the war, he sends fellow alpha and ex-soldier Takashi Shirogane to protect his only child and omega heir from the suitors who lie in wait.</p><p>There are just a few problems: Keith isn't very keen on being protected, and Shiro is in dire danger of falling in love with him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1499</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this AU has been in the works for literal years so it's exciting to finally share it!! it's gonna be wild....some slightly non-traditional/nuanced w class differences a/b/o, INTRIGUE, DRAMA, PERIL, HORNY SOFT PINING, AND TRUE LOVE. let's goooo &gt;:D</p><p>find me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/saltyshiro">@saltyshiro</a> for more sheiths and sneak peeks of fics!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Shiro received the letter from Mr. Blackwood, he did not know what to expect, but one thing he certainly had not anticipated was the news that Mr. Blackwood had died in the war, leaving behind a not inconsiderable fortune and his only child. </p><p>That was shocking enough. But the lines that left Shiro truly bewildered were the ones explaining that, upon his death, Mr. Blackwood wished for Mr. Takashi Shirogane to travel to his family estate and join Mr. Blackwood’s child there, a son of marriageable age. He was to serve as the son’s companion and guardian against, in Mr. Blackwood’s words “those who will surely come knocking bearing no shortage of marriage proposals and ill-will.”</p><p>If Shiro had been a dear, lifelong friend of Mr. Blackwood, this might have been less shocking. But in truth, they had only served in the same company in the war, and spoke often enough, and dined together, and fought side by side, but Mr. Blackwood had been a gruff and quiet man, and Shiro had always sort of gotten the impression that Mr. Blackwood barely tolerated him. Clearly, that had not been the case. </p><p>Mr. Blackwood had spoken of his son before, briefly. Shiro knew little about him, except that Mr. Blackwood was very fond of him and his mother was long-absent, a foreigner who had apparently returned to her home many years ago. It seemed unlikely, then, that Mr. Blackwood would entrust his son to a stranger.</p><p>Shiro wrote back to the address the letter had been sent from, some lawyer in the city. </p><p><em>Am I to understand,</em> he wrote frantically,<em> that I am expected to leave behind my life to fulfill Mr. Blackwood’s very strange dying wish and attend to his son?</em></p><p>He received a prompt and succinct reply: <em>You are expected to do nothing, as you are not legally bound, but I would suggest you pay Blackwood Manor a visit to meet its occupant for yourself before coming to a final decision. </em></p><p>Shiro still isn’t certain why he decided to do just that. Riding uncomfortably in the back of a rented carriage, he peers out the windows at the elegantly maintained trees and topiary, at the smooth gravel drive and statues lining it, still grand though they are pocked with moss and age. He knew Mr. Blackwood came from<em> some</em> money, certainly, but this…! This is old money, indeed. </p><p>The trees along the drive are dark and stately elms, and in the late autumn they wear gilded attire, their yellow leaves falling slowly along the path like coins. The elms are so large and flourishing that their canopies filter through the clouded sunshine as a warm, hazy amber, so that Shiro swears he is entering some other realm in a perpetually golden hour.</p><p>Shiro tears his gaze away from the imposing golden sentinels and tugs self-consciously at his worn sleeve. Blackwood Manor is a far cry from the Shirogane family farm. He knows his mother will manage things well in his absence, and when Ryou returns from university she will have more help, but he can’t help but worry. Why had he come here? It’s a fool’s errand for a dead man he hardly knew.</p><p>And who’s to say Mr. Blackwood’s son will even accept him as a guardian, much less a companion? Shiro sighs, drawing his hand across his brow and wondering if he should have worn a glove as thick, anxious scent wafts from his wrist. Unfortunately it’s not easy to put on gloves with one hand, and since he lost his right arm in the war mere months before Mr. Blackwood was killed, he rarely attempts to wear them unless he absolutely must, upper-class alpha etiquette be damned. Shiro frowns at his calloused fingers. Mr. Blackwood’s son might as well know exactly whom his father signed him away to, hm?</p><p>The carriage rolls to a halt and the cabbie taps on the window. “We’re here, sir.”</p><p>Shiro is not a <em>sir,</em> but he thanks the cabbie, pays him (trying not to wince at the amount of coin that passes between them) and stands before the imposing building, already regretting his choice. Blackwood Manor is unmistakably Gothic in design, all intricate stonework and dark, narrow windows. There are so many towers and chimneys and other bits and pieces Shiro couldn’t name if he tried – it makes Shiro dizzy just to look at it all. </p><p>Shiro is sure Ryou would adore it – he’s studying architecture, and never stops chattering away about rotundas and buttresses whenever he’s home. But Shiro’s getting ahead of himself. He takes a hesitant step forward, then falters. There’s someone standing in the manor’s largest and closest tower window, staring down at him, and Shiro’s mouth goes dry.</p><p>It’s Mr. Blackwood’s son, he’s certain of it, yet it cannot possibly be him, because he’s the most beautiful, terrifying thing Shiro has ever seen. </p><p>He leans against the window, arms folded and chin lifted in a coldly discerning way, his hair dark and feathery where it falls across his brow and past his ears. Shiro cannot fully make out his features through the dark glass, but he has no doubt they are very fine, and his frame is lithe, accentuated by the elegant mourning dress he wears – Shiro can see a long, embroidered black jacket cuffed in white lace, and bets it’s worth more than a year’s worth of what the farm earns.</p><p>The son meets his eye, or Shiro supposes he does, and then he turns away, leaving Shiro standing still and stunned. Suddenly, he understands – and at the same time, is even more confused than before – because Mr. Blackwood’s precious son is an omega. Shiro is certain of it; he doesn’t know how he didn’t consider it before...no, that’s not true. He knows exactly why he didn’t consider it: the very idea is absurd. </p><p>Who in their right mind would want an alpha sheep farmer they barely knew to watch over their beloved omega heir?</p><p>The front doors open and Shiro startles, even more so when he is greeted by a single, grim-faced maid. She eyes him with open suspicion, her brown eyes narrowing as she studies him. “What is your business here?” she demands. Shiro doesn’t know much about maids, but it doesn’t seem a very maid-like way to speak to a guest. He wonders about what other sorts of guests have darkened their doorstep.</p><p>Shiro clears his throat, and procures the letter with much fumbling, starting up the steps and handing it out to her. “I – was asked here, by the late Mr. Blackwood. My business is with his son.”</p><p>She plucks the letter from his fingers, wrinkling her nose noticeably at his bare hand, and Shiro’s shoulders slump. He definitely should have worn a glove; his nervous scent must be terribly obvious. As she reads the letter, however, her eyes widen. Her gaze darts back up to Shiro, reassessing. “Mr. Coran sent this? The lawyer?”</p><p>“Yes…?” Shiro says, slowly, fearing a misstep. “I mean, his signature is there, and the address, and all that…”</p><p>She squints at him. Her gaze wanders, inevitably, to his right arm, or rather the lack thereof. “You served in the war with Mr. Blackwood.” Her tone isn’t quite so acidic this time. Shiro nods. She purses her lips. “Mm. Very well. Follow me. You can wait in the sitting room. And don’t touch anything.”</p><p>“...Noted,” Shiro manages, trailing after her as she turns smartly and marches down the hall. She points him into the sitting room, then turns to go upstairs. “Where are you going?” Shiro asks, more than a little alarmed to be left in a room like this one. There’s a very large stag’s head mounted on the wall opposite. It’s staring directly at him and frankly, he doesn’t like it.</p><p>She frowns at him. “I must show this letter to Keith,” she says. Shiro blinks, bewildered, and her frown deepens. “Mr. Blackwood’s <em>son.</em> Just sit, will you?”</p><p>Shiro sits, perched gingerly on the edge of the emerald green sofa. He worries he might break it; the legs are so dainty, and carved like little lions. He’s peering down at them when someone comes storming down the stairs. </p><p>Shiro sits up straight, eyes wide as an incensed voice joins the thumping feet, “Oh,<em> this</em> is the most creative one yet. My father sent <em>a random alpha</em> to <em>protect me </em>from all the other suitors? A likely story. <em>Clearly </em>this letter must be a…forgery.”</p><p>The owner of the voice comes to a halt in the doorway, his face pinched with great frustration that smooths out into an indecipherable calm as he sees Shiro. </p><p>His features are, in fact, very fine. The window did not do him justice.</p><p>The maid hangs back, holding the letter with an almost apologetic expression. Shiro stands at once, hand to his chest. “Sir,” he starts, but Keith lifts a hand, and he silences at once. Keith seems surprised by this, and tilts his head. </p><p>“So,” Keith drawls. “This letter claims my father sent you here to me, as part of his last will and testament. Is that true?”</p><p>Shiro swallows. “I – I only received the letter, sir, and when I inquired with the lawyer, he said I was not...legally bound, but ought to pay you a visit, and so...here I am.”</p><p>“Here you are,” Keith repeats. His dark gaze is piercing, and it takes great effort not to stare at him in kind. He’s...very striking. It’s a small mercy he’s wearing gloves, and a very high, ribboned collar, masking his scent entirely, as is proper. Shiro is flustered enough already.</p><p>Keith takes a step closer and raises an eyebrow. “You may sit.” Shiro sits obediently on the sofa again, and Keith’s eyebrow lifts higher as he makes his way over to sit in the maroon armchair directly opposite the sofa. Shiro wonders if it was once his father’s; it’s certainly big enough. Mr. Blackwood was an imposing man, an alpha as well – this was an unspoken fact – and his son resembles him only slightly, in subtly jarring ways. </p><p>They have the same frown. Keith is frowning at him now, but not with malice...more troubled than anything else. He sits stiff and almost uncertain, legs crossed and hands folded in his lap like it is a position he has practiced in front of the mirror. “How did you know my father?”</p><p>“We served together in the war, in Crimea,” Shiro explains, trying not to fidget. “For – a year, at least. We were in the same company, and –”</p><p>“And his death?” Keith interrupts, brow lowering. “Were you witness to that?”</p><p>Shiro blinks. “What? No – I was sent back a few months before, after my injury.”</p><p>“Your...ah.” Keith gives his right shoulder a cursory glance, expression unchanging. “And you did not know him before the war?”</p><p>“No.” Shiro hesitates. “Truthfully, I don’t have the slightest idea why he gave me such a role in his will. We were friends, I suppose, but…”</p><p>“My father did not have many friends,” Keith retorts. “You may count yourself lucky if you truly numbered among them.” He pauses. “And I appreciate your honesty. There is not much of it here, lately.” He wrinkles his nose, and Shiro self-consciously tucks his wrist further into his sleeve, though Keith hasn’t looked at it once. </p><p>Shiro clears his throat. “Your father mentioned suitors, is that what you speak of?”</p><p>“Suitors,” Keith repeats, and scoffs. “Ha. As if. They’re thieves in pretty clothing, looking to rob me in any way they can.” When Shiro’s confused expression remains, Keith huffs and waves a hand. “Just the other day, a so-called gentleman came knocking – easily twice my senior, but he made a valiant attempt to hide his graying hair. Nothing to be done about the wrinkles or his <em>smell.” </em></p><p>Shiro works hard to control his face. It’s true, of course, that alpha scents – along with their virility – tend to deteriorate with old age, but he’s never heard an omega say so with such bluntness.</p><p>Keith purses his lips. “He then had the audacity to lie to my face, claiming he could offer several estates and that his family’s wealth matched or even surpassed my own. The <em>gall.</em> His gold pocket watch was a fake, his coat didn’t fit him, and I know of his ‘several estates’ – all foreclosed years ago and standing empty but for dust and spiders. He really thought I would be desperate enough to fall for that.”</p><p>Shiro frowns. “And are you? Desperate, that is?”</p><p>Keith regards him with something halfway between irritation and amusement. “Look around you. Do I seem desperate to you?”</p><p>“No,” Shiro murmurs, for it’s the truth – the estate looks well-managed, the house is in fine condition, and he doesn’t doubt Keith’s claims of wealth. “But your father seemed to think there was cause for worry, perhaps if others grow desperate enough...”</p><p>“Mm. Yes. It seems that way. But my father was a complicated man.” Keith tilts his head. “Tell me about yourself.”</p><p>Shiro’s brow furrows. “Is this an interview?”</p><p>Keith’s lips quirk. “Just answer the question.”</p><p>“I…” Shiro has no idea how to answer without sounding like a dull fool in comparison to the polished, sharp creature before him, the light of the fireplace reflected brightly in his expectant eyes. So, he rambles. “I’m Takashi Shirogane, but most call me Shiro. I was born in the north, my family are sheep farmers. I...am educated, enough, but did not continue at university after my father passed; I had to help my mother with the farm. I have a younger brother. I was sent to the war, and made enough for my mother to hire some farmhands while I was away, and...after.”</p><p>“That seems quite a grievous injury you suffered,” Keith remarks. </p><p>“It was. I would prefer not to think on it,” Shiro retorts.</p><p>“I would not ask you to.” Keith’s voice is softer.</p><p>Shiro frowns and continues, halting. “I don’t know what else there is to say. I’m sure you’ve guessed already, but I’m no gentleman. I don’t know why your father wrote me into his will. I don’t even really know why I came here.”</p><p>Keith studies him. “And are you wed?”</p><p>Shiro blinks. “Pardon?”</p><p>“You heard me.” Keith folds his arms. “Have you a mate, or else another prolonged engagement, or several, as I’ve heard is the latest fashion?”</p><p>Ears hot, Shiro slowly shakes his head. “I...do not.”</p><p>“Hm. And your mother, does she still need help around the farm?”</p><p>“Well, the pay for the farmhands will run out eventually,” Shiro admits.</p><p>“So, it’s money you want from me, like the others?”</p><p>Shiro’s eyes widen. “What? Oh – oh, no. I’m not – here as a suitor. You read the letter, right? It sounds more like a job than...that.” He clears his throat. “Money would be<em> nice,</em> but I do not plan to cheat you out of it with promises I cannot keep.”</p><p>“How good are you with numbers?” Keith asks suddenly.</p><p>“I – good, I suppose.”</p><p>“You suppose, or you know?”</p><p>“I was always good at numbers in school,” Shiro relents.</p><p>Keith looks pleased. “Good. Numbers frustrate me. Can you speak many languages?”</p><p>Shiro hesitates, unsure of how much to say. He doesn’t want to seem boastful. “I...several.” Keith waits. “Four. I speak four.”</p><p>That manages to get some genuine surprise out of him. “You speak four languages? Fluently?”</p><p>“Yes.” Shiro exhales. “English, Japanese, French, and Turkish.” He pauses. “And a bit of Latin, I suppose.”</p><p>“Next you’ll tell me you’re a classical pianist.”</p><p>Shiro opens his mouth, then closes it. Keith stares at him. “You cannot be serious. What university was this?!”</p><p>“I’m hardly a classical pianist,” Shiro sighs. “But I enjoy playing. Sometimes. I’m very out of practice. And also out a hand, so...”</p><p>“No wonder my father befriended you,” Keith exclaims.</p><p>“Your father knew none of these things about me,” Shiro replies. “Well – I suppose he knew the French and Turkish bits, since I spoke those during the war, but we all spoke a bit –”</p><p>“Can you ride a horse?” Keith demands.</p><p>“...Yes?” A plow horse, anyway. “Why –”</p><p>“Can you win a fight?” Keith leans forward, the glint in his eye turning dangerous.</p><p>“What kind of fight?” Shiro asks warily.</p><p>Keith shrugs. “You’re an alpha, aren’t you? You tell me.<em> I’m</em> not supposed to know about such brutish pastimes, am I?”</p><p>Shiro is not fooled by his innocent tone for a second. “I dislike violence,” he replies. “I saw enough of it for several lifetimes and I find it cruel and pointless.”</p><p>Keith eyes him for what feels like a long time. Then he shrugs again and says, “Fair enough. I don’t need you to fight my battles, anyway.” Shiro thinks that’s the end of it, but then he adds, “But I am quite bored here, alone. It’s a very big house, and it feels too empty as of late. There’s an empty guest wing on the second floor. You may fetch your things from your farm and return at the earliest convenience. I will see to it that you’re paid however much you need for your mother to run the farm by herself.”</p><p>“Is that an ultimatum?” Shiro was bewildered when he arrived, but this is surreal.</p><p>Keith chuckles. It’s a nice sound, nicer than it has any right to be. “You’re a strange alpha,” he muses, “taking orders from an omega far younger than you.”</p><p>Shiro blinks. “I don’t think you’re <em>far</em> younger.”</p><p>“Oh? No?” Keith sits back. “How old are you? At least<em> you</em> make no attempt to hide your gray hair.”</p><p>Shiro touches his forelock and clears his throat. “That’s not – I’ve had that since birth. I’m twenty-six.”</p><p>Keith doesn’t smile, but it’s a queer look nonetheless. “And still unwed?”</p><p>“Marriage doesn’t interest me,” Shiro retorts, defensive. “How old are<em> you,</em> sir?”</p><p><em>“Keith</em> will do,” Keith says. “I’m nineteen.”</p><p>Shiro is surprised. When Mr. Blackwood described him as marriageable, he was expecting a gangly sixteen year old. Keith is undeniably not that, however. “Some would say <em>that</em> is old for an unwed omega.”</p><p>“Some would.” There’s a warning in Keith’s voice.</p><p>Shiro holds his gaze, and stands. “I’ll gather my things,” he says, praying he won’t regret this even as he knows he will. “But I will need to visit my mother from time to time.”</p><p>“Of course.” Keith stands with him, and Shiro is all at once terribly aware that he towers over Keith, in height and breadth. “What, did you think you were agreeing to be a prisoner here?”</p><p>“I’m not certain what I’m agreeing to,” Shiro admits.</p><p>Keith does smile, then. It lights up his face, and for a moment, Shiro sees a glimpse of genuine excitement behind the aloof facade. “Nothing too terrible, I promise.”</p><p>*</p><p>On his first night in Blackwood Manor, three days after he first met Keith Blackwood, Shiro is awoken by a soft cry in the night. </p><p>He awakens at once without fully knowing why, sitting up straight and startled in the canopied bed he has been given, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. Again, the cry echoes through the drafty house, and Shiro jolts, scrambling out of bed before he is fully aware of it, opening the door and padding down the hall to Keith’s room with apprehension prickling beneath his skin as yet another cry trembles through the air, laden heavy with fear and pain.</p><p>Shiro knocks at Keith’s door. No one answers, and when he opens it, he finds Keith sprawled out on his bed in the silver moonlight, sheets tangled around him, white nightshirt darkened with sweat. He is asleep, but thrashes about, hands curled into fists and mouth gasping for air. Disturbed, Shiro hurries to his side and wakes him with a careful hand and soft voice, shaking his shoulder until dark, dazed eyes flicker open and catch his own.</p><p>“You,” Keith breathes. He does not sit up, but slumps back into the pillows, tension strung through him. Shiro realizes then that he can smell it, too, rising up in a heady miasma from the sheets and the pillows and the barely clothed omega before him. Shiro, too, is in only his nightclothes, and hesitates, certain he has crossed some line. Keith, however, is smiling, a soft yet crooked quirk of bitten lips, utterly unguarded.</p><p>“I heard you call out,” Shiro whispers. “I – did not mean to intrude.”</p><p>“Did I frighten you?” Keith murmurs. “Night terrors. They come upon me without warning.” He pauses. “You have not intruded. You are here as my companion, are you not?”</p><p>Shiro’s breath catches. “I did not presume that meant – I do not think –”</p><p>“Yes, do not think.” Keith’s voice is lazy, still slurred with sleep. “Your scent, it’s soothing. Come closer.”</p><p>Shiro swallows hard. “I am very close already.”</p><p>Keith’s brow pinches; he rolls away, facing Shiro half-curled on his side, arm outstretched. “No, lay down beside me.”</p><p>Shiro should not be here.</p><p>Keith gazes at him steadily. “My father often stayed with me after night terrors. His scent calmed me in much the same way. Perhaps that was why he asked you here. Please. Closer.”</p><p>If Shiro’s scent is soothing, Keith’s scent is intoxicating. It is like drowning in a barrel of fine mead, honey-sweet and tingling, leaving him warm and glowing. When he lays down with Keith, every movement feels sluggish, and when Keith curls into him, sleepily tossing the blankets back over the two of them, Shiro makes a low sound, a rumble in his throat that he is certain he has never made before.</p><p>Keith sighs, the tension easing from him. He nuzzles into Shiro’s neck, his nose and lips pressed to the most intimate of places. Well. Not the <em>most, </em>but certainly – close. <em>Does he know?</em> Shiro thinks frantically. <em>Does he understand what this is?</em>  Shiro doesn’t.</p><p>“You’re so warm,” Keith whispers. “You can hold me, if you like.”</p><p>“Keith, I –”</p><p>“Hush.” Keith yawns and nestles flush against him. Shiro can feel the soft curve and hard leanness of his body in awful detail through the thin cotton, and hates himself a little for noticing it, yet wonders how – or if, at all – he is expected to ignore it. “Sleep. It is late…”</p><p>“Yes,” Shiro agrees, dazed. He slowly tucks his chin over Keith’s head, and is surprised to find his own eyelids are heavy, and the panic is fading into a deep, bewildering calm. He inhales, and closes his eyes. The intoxication sinks into drowsiness. If Shiro is drowning here, it is a good way to go.</p><p>*</p><p>Shiro opens his eyes to sunlight. Keith is already up, sitting on the windowsill, a palm pressed to the glass, looking out upon the morning.</p><p>Shiro is afraid to move, but at least he has not yet been banished from the bed, and anyway his struggle is for naught because Keith turns and sees him awake, and raises an eyebrow. “You slept late,” he says. It’s all he says. Shiro waits for more, but to his disbelief, there is none.</p><p>“Yes.” Shiro wets his lips. “How...how did you sleep?”</p><p>Keith gives him a small smile. The curious thing is that there’s nothing secretive or suggestive about it. It’s simply a smile. He’s just <em>happy. </em>“Good,” Keith replies. “It’s been a long time since I slept so well, actually. My father only stayed the whole night with me when I was quite young. When I was older, he was away more often and it got...it felt wrong to ask.” Keith’s smile falters. “I don’t know why. There’s nothing wrong in it.” </p><p>He says it like a challenge, and Shiro blinks at him. The funny thing is, he’s right. Nothing...happened. They slept. In fact, Shiro feels far worse about <em>expecting </em>something else to happen than the actual act of staying the night. He feels rested, quieted deep within, in a sense he did not know was possible. </p><p>Keith tilts his head, worry slipping into his expression at Shiro’s long silence. “Mr. Shirogane? Are you alright?”</p><p>Shiro sits up against the headboard, studying him, the way the sunshine haloes him. “Yes. I just...didn’t expect this.”</p><p>Keith hums, stretching his legs out, toes curling. “I think,” he murmurs, “I may be a bit strange.” He glances up at Shiro. There’s something vulnerable and bright in his eyes. “How much did my father tell you about me?”</p><p>“Honestly? Not a thing.”</p><p>“Ah.” Keith looks down at his legs, frowns, and tucks them back to his chest. “I have been told,” he admits, “that for an omega, an alpha ought to smell like the most appealing thing in the world. And the same for an alpha to an omega.”</p><p>Shiro clears his throat. “Yes...that is generally how it goes.”</p><p>“Not so for me,” Keith says. “Either I do not smell alphas at all, or they repulse me – truthfully, most fall into the latter category. And most other omegas give me headaches, like too much perfume. The servants, you may notice, are all betas. It is not out of some prejudice, but practicality.” He gives a short, bitter laugh, and meets Shiro’s eyes again. “I had not realized it fully yesterday, when you arrived. But it seems my father has managed to find an alpha whose very presence is not a terrible assault on my senses.”</p><p>“Oh.” Shiro doesn’t know what else to say. “Um. That’s...an unfortunate condition, but I am glad, I suppose, that my presence does not offend you?”</p><p>“That came out very harsh, didn’t it?” Keith sighs. “What I mean is – when I said your scent was soothing last night, I meant it. Tell me, what have other omegas said you smell like, to them?”</p><p>It is such an indecent question, and Shiro is still terribly aware of their current indecent position, that Shiro can only gape at him for a few seconds before stammering, “I – I suppose, <em>good?” </em>Keith raises an eyebrow, dissatisfied with this, and Shiro clears his throat. “Ah – I don’t know. I think it was once compared to the scent of, er, incense, or –”</p><p>“No, that isn’t it,” Keith muses. “It’s like...tea, maybe.”</p><p>“Tea,” Shiro repeats. “I smell like <em>tea </em>to you.”</p><p>Keith gives him an apologetic smile. “I suppose that’s not a very powerful scent, is it? Well, it’s a compliment from me. Far better than the ones who smell like carrion or sulphur.”</p><p>Shiro wrinkles his nose. “I see.” He falters. “Then...is that why you are unwed?”</p><p>Keith purses his lips. “Mr. Shirogane,” he says, “the list of reasons as to why I am unwed is too long to recite before breakfast. I thank you for your assistance, and apologize for my strangeness, and ask you take your leave of me so I may get dressed.”</p><p>“Of course,” Shiro says, in a rush, hurrying out of bed and at once ashamed of this utter lack of decorum, though Keith remains unabashed, and seems puzzled by Shiro’s nervousness. “I – will see you at breakfast?”</p><p>“Where else would I be?” Keith chuckles at him, and Shiro flees the room.</p><p>*</p><p>He makes it to the kitchen first, and finds the maid who let him into the manor, Acxa, preparing eggs and sausages. There are several other staff members he has seen, but she is by far the most constant fixture in the house. She fixes him with a sharp look as he sits down at the table, and her look does not leave him.</p><p>“You were not in your bedroom this morning,” she says.</p><p>Shiro’s head jerks up, face hot. “I –”</p><p>Acxa raises a hand, her mouth twisted. “I know Keith had night terrors. I know you went to him. I know the world out there isn’t so pure and honest as he is. And I know <em>you</em> came from out there.”</p><p>“We only slept,” Shiro swears, shaking his head. “He wanted me to stay, I stayed, though I admit I did not fully know what was happening nor why.”</p><p>Acxa’s fierceness lessens, but only a little. “He is lonely,” she says. “And for some reason, he has apparently chosen to trust you. Do not abuse that.” She slices the bread with a very sharp knife.</p><p>Shiro nods, slowly. “I would not. But – do you know of his...condition?”</p><p>Acxa sets down the knife and glares at him. “You keep quiet about that,” she hisses. “I cannot believe he told you – no. I can believe it. But you <em>don’t </em>speak of it. They put omegas in asylums for less than that, trying to cure them with lobotomies and lechery. I swore to Mr. Blackwood that I would keep his son safe and I intend to keep that promise, sir.”</p><p>“I had no intention of telling anyone else –”</p><p>“Then keep your mouth shut.” Acxa shakes her head and points to the eggs. “Breakfast.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Shiro croaks, and takes a plate, noting that to cross Acxa would be a grave mistake indeed.</p><p>*</p><p>Very quickly, Shiro learns that Keith is a man of a few singular interests: he likes to paint, he likes to ride horses, and he likes danger.</p><p>The first two are fairly straightforward, though Shiro has never seen an omega ride a horse the way Keith does, and is utterly unprepared for Keith to stride out of the barn in (<em>tight, very very tight</em>) riding pants and swing himself up into the saddle without preamble. The last one, however, Shiro finds out slowly over the course of his first month at Blackwood Manor.</p><p>One morning, for example, he wanders down for breakfast and finds Keith studying a large adder which he has contained in an overturned glass jar. The serpent hisses and writhes against the glass in a cold fury, and when Keith sees Shiro standing there in disbelief, he grins. “I found it in the pantry. I think it eats the mice for us. Have you ever seen one like it before?”</p><p>“Yes,” Shiro says faintly, walking towards him and the snake in a daze, “a snake like that killed our chickens.”</p><p>Keith’s lips part, like he didn’t even consider that snakes could kill things. “Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry about your chickens. Should we give it a name?”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“A name. Come, you must know some interesting name in one of your many languages.”</p><p>“Um,” Shiro says. “How about...Hebi?”</p><p>“Hebi,” Keith repeats. “And what does that mean?”</p><p>“It’s Japanese,” Shiro says. “It means, um. Snake.”</p><p>Keith snorts, and shakes his head at him. “Really? Well. I like it, anyway. Hebi it is. It was quite hard to catch. How do you think I should free it?” He starts lifting the glass jar and the snake slithers angrily towards the opening, and Keith’s hand. </p><p>“Wait –” Shiro starts forward, pushing the jar back down before the snake can escape, and accidentally covering Keith’s hand with his own in the process.</p><p>Keith goes still. His fingers tighten around the jar. Snake secured, Shiro hastily snatches back his hand and backs away. “I – apologies. Snake bites hurt.”</p><p>Keith blinks at him. “Have you been bitten?”</p><p>Shiro does not shiver. “Once. Yes. I don’t recommend it.”</p><p>“Hm.” Keith shrugs. “Then I will trust your judgment. Help me get Hebi outside, will you?”</p><p>By some miracle, they manage to get the snake back into the woods without incident. Keith remains unafraid and curious the entire time, which takes a toll on Shiro’s nerves, to say the least.</p><p>There are other things, too, which merge with the first two interests. They ride horses often, sometimes once a day together, and Keith is always the one who urges his chestnut mare Strawberry into a thundering gallop across the heath, sending her sailing over hedges and fences with victorious whoops of delight as Shiro and his much lazier white gelding lag behind. Riding with one arm is not<em> impossible,</em> but surely takes some getting used to. Shiro also gets the sense that Keith sometimes resents him for his presence as a chaperone, so Shiro tries to keep his distance. </p><p>It’s more difficult than he expected to do that, however. They aren’t friends, hardly acquaintances – like his father, when he isn’t trying to make a point, Keith is often quiet and withdrawn. Yet Keith is infuriatingly likable, and even more infuriating, Shiro doesn’t think Keith understands this about himself.</p><p>He initially presented as polished and refined, but in actuality he is a bit of an odd duck, in a curiously endearing way. Incredibly, this oddness extends beyond the occasional nights they spend in Keith’s bed, doing nothing more than calming each other, apparently. </p><p>Shiro has grown more accustomed to this ritual than he cares to admit, but it’s genuinely a relief that Keith’s intentions seem entirely platonic – and not because Shiro doesn’t find him desirable. Quite the opposite. But it’s nice, simple, to just...be there beside him. Keith treats this as entirely commonplace, and Shiro doesn’t know if this is willfulness on his part or genuine ignorance of how others might react to an alpha and omega spending the night together. </p><p>Acxa’s reaction is one of continued suspicion, but Shiro knows full well it could be much worse: the shame that would come down on them both if anyone else learned of it could ruin an unwed omega’s chances at marriage entirely. But Shiro isn’t sure Keith understands the concept of shame very well.</p><p>Keith says and does other things that make Shiro suspect he has not engaged much with society at large – nor has much of a desire to do so, or even fears the very prospect. Shiro supposes the experience might be unpleasant for him, with his condition.</p><p>But he engages with other productive things. Keith’s artwork is quite good, good enough to be in a gallery, and Shiro tells him so, not to stroke his ego but because it’s the truth. He has a messy sort of Impressionistic style and likes to paint the sky — the blazing sunsets and rosy sunrises seem to be his favored subjects — but Shiro has also seen him doing careful studies of flowers, which he seems almost embarrassed about, and frowns when Shiro compliments them once.</p><p>One day, Shiro asks if Keith has ever gone to an art gallery, or a salon, which are all the rage lately. Keith gives him a cool look and shakes his head. He takes a long sip of tea. When they are not together in the quiet nighttime moments or early morning, he recedes back into his shell like this. “I don’t like to go out,” he says shortly.</p><p>“You never go out,” Shiro corrects.</p><p>Keith huffs. “We went on a picnic yesterday.”</p><p>“We were still on the estate; that doesn’t count.”</p><p>Keith scowls. “I don’t like the city.”</p><p>“There are salons in the countryside —-”</p><p>“Shiro,” Keith says, sharply. “Go to a salon if you wish. I don’t care.”</p><p>Shiro frowns. “I just thought you might enjoy it.”</p><p>“Tell me,” Keith sighs suddenly, “do you know what is said of me, in such social circles as those that we might find at salons?”</p><p>Shiro pauses. “No, but your countenance says it is nothing good.”</p><p>“My father was not a sociable man,” Keith retorts. “Many found him strange or resented him for his success in business and familial connection where they failed. I suspect they see me as even less deserving of these lands, this wealth, this…” He waves a hand. “Freedom. That is why so many of them send letters pleading for portraits or requesting audiences. To yoke me and my family name to them, and therefore to usurp my father’s legacy.”</p><p>“Is that why you burn all their letters?” Shiro asks lightly. He finds this habit of Keith’s a petty impulse, but dares not question it, for Keith is very fond of fire. And perhaps Keith’s senses are so acute that their mingled scents still linger on the parchment, and offend him still.</p><p>“Mm.” Keith sets down his paintbrush. </p><p>“Why do none of them try to visit, then?” Shiro ventures to ask. “If they are so keen on wooing you, then why not go to the source?”</p><p>Keith gives him a withering look. “That is poor etiquette. Not that they care about etiquette – no. Some have visited, remember; I told you about that one with the fake pocketwatch. But...most don’t visit because they don’t know what to expect, and they fear that. Perhaps I am quite mad! They simply don’t know.”</p><p>“And that’s how you want to go about life?” Shiro says incredulously. “Hiding in the shadows from them like a specter?”</p><p>Keith frowns. “I will go about my life how I wish.” But he doesn’t sound so certain.</p><p>“Is that how you <em>wish</em> to go about life, or just how you feel you <em>must</em> go about life?” Shiro asks.</p><p>“If I could,” Keith snaps, low and fierce, “I would travel the damn world, Shiro. Sail the seven seas, go to every great city and see every wonder. But that life would be misery for me, and hardly possible, with my father’s fortune or not.” He sounds miserable when he says it, and Shiro is struck – tragically, not for the first time – with the urge to wrap Keith up in his embrace and never let go. </p><p>“You shouldn’t have to stay cooped up if you don’t want to be,” Shiro tries. “Maybe – maybe it will be better if I’m there with you. Maybe my scent will block others out.”</p><p>Keith looks doubtful, but there’s also a glimmer of hope there. “You think so? My father’s didn’t do that.”</p><p>“I’m not your father.”</p><p>Keith turns slightly pink, then turns away. “No, you are not,” he murmurs. “He smelled like oak. You smell like bergamot tea and rain.” He rests his chin in his hand. “What do I smell like to you?”</p><p>“You know,” Shiro hedges, “most people don’t ask that question. Ever.”</p><p>“I’m not most people.”</p><p>Shiro sighs. “I…”</p><p>Keith eyes him. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Shiro?”</p><p>“No.” Only a bit of a lie.</p><p>“Is my scent unpleasant?”</p><p>“No.” Shiro says this very quickly. Keith notices. “You smell like...” He fumbles for some description that gives even a hint of justice to it. “Summertime.”</p><p>Keith smiles. “Summertime,” he repeats. “Good.”</p><p>*</p><p>The smell of summertime grows stronger in the coming weeks. Stronger, sweeter, hotter, and harder to ignore. Particularly when Shiro’s nose is tucked right up against its source for hours on end in sleep.</p><p>Really, Shiro should have expected this. He should have refused to share the omega’s bed, even in a platonic sense, for fear of this very thing happening. But Shiro is finding it very difficult to refuse Keith anything. </p><p>He has realized that the Blackwood boy may be considered spoiled, for it’s clear that his father gave him everything his heart desired, yet being spoiled has not spoilt Keith. It has not made him greedy, nor selfish, nor unkind. It has, however, made him expectant of getting what he wants.</p><p>So when Shiro awakens to Keith pressed along his front, sweating and panting into the crook of Shiro’s neck, so close to his scent glands that his heart nearly stops, Keith is not shy about saying, “Shiro — touch me.”</p><p>Shiro does not do that, because he realizes in a cold rush that though he has tried his best to ignore the strengthening, blooming summertime, there can be no ignoring it now: Keith is in heat, or at least very near it, and <em>Shiro is in bed with him. </em>Oh, this is bad. This is very bad.</p><p>“Shiro,” Keith repeats again, and then, lower, breathy, “Mr. Shirogane, please.”</p><p>Shiro makes a wretched sound and pulls away from him, chest heaving as he takes stock of the full gravity of the situation. Keith whimpers when Shiro leaves him, starting to sit up and then slumping against the pillows, staring up at him in accusation. “Keith,” Shiro rasps, “you’re not in your right mind. I’ll fetch Acxa –”</p><p>“Don’t – don’t leave me.” Keith whimpers louder, rolling closer on the bed, now on his belly, and to Shiro’s horror his back arches, not quite presenting but close enough to it that something howls in Shiro’s hindbrain and his cock throbs in interest at the sight. Shiro swears aloud. “I’ll be good,” Keith promises, eyes dark and lips parted, “nobody – nobody has to know. It will be our secret.”</p><p><em>“No,”</em> Shiro gasps, tearing himself away from the bed and the beseeching omega with the iota of self-control he has left. “That’s not what I’m here for, Keith.”</p><p>Keith stares up at him. “You’re an alpha. What else would you be here for?”</p><p>Arousal forgotten in a moment and bile rising in his throat, Shiro takes several steps backwards towards the door. Keith scrambles upright, fangs bared, a feverish gleam in his eyes, warning Shiro to stay right where he is, but Shiro is already turning on his heel and slamming the door behind him, having half a mind to barricade it with the armoire in the hall. He glances into the mirror, growling at himself and smoothing down his hair and clothing uselessly before half-running downstairs to find Acxa. </p><p>Thankfully, she’s the first servant he runs into. Unthankfully, the beta takes one whiff of him and snarls, whirling on him with a look in her eyes that says she won’t hesitate to rip his throat out, decorum be damned. </p><p><em>“Keith,” </em>she hisses. “What did you <em>do –”</em></p><p>“He’s in heat,” Shiro manages, jaw clenched.<em> “I</em> didn’t do anything, but –”</p><p>Upstairs, Keith wails, the sound so furious and lonely that Shiro’s chest tightens and he has to grit his teeth to stop his own fangs from showing. Acxa’s eyes widen in shock.</p><p>“ – but he’s desperate, and not thinking clearly,” Shiro finishes, “and he’s going to try to get out sooner or later.”</p><p>“He cannot be allowed to do that,” Acxa says, and Shiro nods in grim agreement. The thought of a heatsick omega wandering the countryside and wailing for a mate is not a good one, and it’s an even worse thought when the omega involved is Keith. </p><p>“What did you do when his father was here?” Shiro asks. “Or...when he was away at war?”</p><p>Acxa shakes her head. “His father would comfort him with items that had his scent...help him make a nest, and such.” She clears her throat. “But Keith has...difficult heats. Always has. He’s gotten out before, actually.” Shiro growls without meaning to and she gives him a look; he flinches back with an apologetic mumble. “Nothing happened, by some miracle,” Acxa adds, shivering. “It was his first heat when his father wasn’t there. I found him in the river at the edge of the estate...just in time.”</p><p>“In the river?”</p><p>“Yes.” Acxa looks away. “He was, as you said, desperate.” She folds her arms. “He cannot swim, and he was mad with heat sickness. He thought his father had abandoned him...”</p><p>Shiro sucks in a breath. </p><p>“As I said,” Acxa mutters, “his heats are very difficult. Painful, I think. I will make him some tea and foods he liked the last time so he can keep his strength up. And you should go –”</p><p>“I,” Shiro starts, and looks down. “I do not know if I can leave, truthfully.”</p><p>Her eyes narrow. “What?”</p><p>“I know it is most improper,” Shiro says miserably, “but my instincts do not seem to care about decorum. So it goes.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I...could guard the estate. Or his quarters. Or something.”</p><p>She frowns. “You, guard his quarters? As if I’d let an alpha –”</p><p>Keith screams at the top of his lungs, echoing through the entire house like a damned banshee, and both of them flinch.</p><p>“It could comfort him,” Shiro says firmly, “to have my scent nearby, even through the door.” He swallows. “Isn’t that why I’m here? As an alpha?” <em>What else would you be here for?</em></p><p>“Do you think that is why Mr. Blackwood made you Keith’s guardian?” Acxa asks warily.</p><p>“And companion,” Shiro reminds her. “Whatever that means.”</p><p>She frowns. “Your scent might just agitate him further; make him want to escape.”</p><p>“Only one way to find out,” Shiro retorts, and she scowls at him for another few seconds before relenting with a growl and storming back upstairs with him.</p><p>*</p><p>As soon as Shiro sits down outside the door in the chair Acxa found for him, fully dressed now (a small mercy), Keith’s caterwauling pauses, and there’s a scuffling before something thumps against the door and the scent of the omega’s heat trickles out from under the now locked door in a spreading pool of sweetness, spilling out into the hallway. Shiro inhales, exhales, and steadies himself. </p><p>“Alpha,” Keith says, muffled through the door. “What are you doing out there? Come inside. Need you.”</p><p>“You’re not in your right mind, Keith,” Shiro retorts. “I must stay out here for your own safety.”</p><p>Keith growls in displeasure. “No,” he snaps, “come inside. Now. Mr. Shirogane, that’s an order.”</p><p>Shiro’s claws dig into the upholstery. “I apologize, Keith, but I can’t do that.”</p><p>“You are here to guard me,” Keith says, authority tipping over into desperation, “and to be <em>my alpha,</em> so come here!”</p><p>“I’m not your alpha,” Shiro says with effort, because <em>fuck.</em></p><p>“You could be,” Keith wheedles, “I’d let you mark me, knot me, do whatever you wished to me –”</p><p>Shiro slams his fist down onto the arm of the chair and there’s a clatter from within as Keith scrambles away from the door. Shiro hears a low, plaintive whine, and slowly his fist uncurls, his teeth pulling away from where they’ve torn into his own lip. “Keith,” he says, as calmly as he can manage, “that is precisely why I must stay out here, and you must stay in there. Do you understand?”</p><p>There’s a soft, muffled sound, and with a start Shiro realizes Keith is crying. Oh, damn it all. “No,” Keith sobs quietly, “no, I don’t understand. Why are you punishing me? Where is my father? He’s dead, isn’t he? He isn’t coming back this time…he left me. I miss him. I can’t smell him anymore, anywhere, but I can smell you, but you’re not my father, but he sent you – and now you’re leaving me alone, too.”</p><p>“I’m not punishing you, Keith, and I won’t leave,” Shiro promises, staring down at the crack under the door, at the crumpled shadow of Keith beside it, on the other side. “But you must promise to stay in your room, Keith.”</p><p>Keith whimpers. “…You promise you won’t leave?”</p><p>“I promise,” Shiro says. He hesitates. “I’m sorry about your father, Keith. But – he didn’t leave you. He didn’t want to leave you. He never wanted that.”</p><p>“How did it happen?” Keith whispers. Shiro stiffens, and he hears Keith thump against the door again as he leans into it, and smells the bitter note in his scent – still thick with heat, but complicated, a swirling miasma of confusion and fear and hurt. Shiro’s gut twists. “They won’t tell me,” Keith adds. “They didn’t want to…upset me.”</p><p>Shiro wets his lips and leans his head back against the wall. “He was shot. Twice, I think. Quick death. Probably –” He clears his throat, his right shoulder aching with phantom agony. “Probably not much pain.”</p><p>“Oh,” Keith whispers. “That’s good, then.”</p><p>Shiro doesn’t know if any war death can be described as good. “Yes.”</p><p>Keith sniffles. “I’m sorry. I guess dead fathers isn’t a particularly alluring subject. Is that why you don’t want me? Because I’m so bloody macabre?”</p><p>Shiro snorts, seizing the lighter topic. “It’s okay to be macabre sometimes,” he says. “Can’t say it’s something I associate with omegas in heat, though.”</p><p>“I think about dying a lot,” Keith replies, conversationally. “Sometimes when I’m in heat, I feel like I’m dying.”</p><p>“You’re not going to die, Keith,” Shiro says.</p><p>“Well, eventually,” Keith says, and tapers off, his breaths growing thick and labored again.</p><p>Shiro hesitates. “Keith?”</p><p>“Alpha,” Keith rasps, the door shaking as he moves against it. “Please.”</p><p>“Go to bed, Keith,” Shiro says. “You’ll – you’ll end up with splinters, otherwise.” He draws in a shallow breath. “As long as you stay in there, I’ll be right here. Promise.”</p><p>He doesn’t expect Keith to listen to him at all, but there’s a weary sigh, a quiet, <em>yes, alpha,</em> and Keith retreats to his bed with a dull, defeated thump followed by a chorus of sounds that make Shiro’s face very hot indeed.</p><p>Shiro sits there, attempting to read the book he brought with him and absorbing exactly none of it. One of the maids brings him food at one point, and though she’s a beta she ducks her head and mumbles and won’t meet his eye. Shiro doesn’t fully understand why until Acxa comes to check on him at dinnertime, when Keith seems to have finally fallen asleep, and immediately wrinkles her nose.</p><p>“You smell vile,” she says, and when Shiro bristles, she amends, “well, not <em>vile,</em> but the stink of possessive alpha is going to be in this hallway for weeks.”</p><p>Shiro lowers his gaze with a frown, hand still clenched into a fist. “I’m not possessive.”</p><p>“Protective,” Acxa says like it pains her, “fine.” She folds her arms. “I don’t understand you, Shirogane. Country bumpkin fresh off the battlefield is sent to watch over a young omega by a veritable stranger, and, what, you just accept it? You don’t even know Keith; why are you so eager to be the protector his father declared you to be – for that matter, why did Mr. Blackwood think Keith needed a protector at all?”</p><p>Shiro frowns at her, and from the way her nose wrinkles he knows his scent strengthens. “It doesn’t matter that I don’t know Keith; I would never hurt him. Omega or not. I did plenty of hurting in the war.” He hesitates. “And…I don’t know, either. He seemed certain that there would be suitors – dangerous ones, perhaps. Do you know who he could have been referring to?”</p><p>Acxa shakes her head slowly. “Keith has managed all of the suitors so far perfectly well on his own. I don’t know. It isn’t as if we’re surrounded by particularly dangerous alpha suitors, you understand. Most are long past their prime…or else not a match for Keith, not enough to be a real threat.” She hesitates. “The only possibility that comes to mind is that we have new neighbors, in the estate a ways off that’s been vacant for years. The, uh…Sinclairs?” She waves a hand. “I don’t know much about politics, but I think they’re a powerful family.”</p><p>“And have any Sinclairs come knocking?”</p><p>“Not yet.”</p><p>Keith awakens from inside his room with a soft cry and they exchange looks. “You should sleep,” Acxa says. “I can take over for the night –”</p><p>“No,” Shiro says, rubbing his temple. She looks at him in disbelief. “I won’t be able to sleep, anyway.”</p><p>“You know that if you so much as open that door a crack I’ll castrate you,” Acxa says after a beat, eyes narrowing. “Wake me if there’s any trouble. Anything at all.”</p><p>“I know,” Shiro sighs. “I promise.”</p><p>She gives him a long, searching look, then sighs, mutters something, shoves the plate of food into his hands, and retreats reluctantly down the hall as Keith’s cries increase in volume once more.</p><p>*</p><p>Shiro stays more or less rooted to the spot for the next three days. He braced himself for a week, so it’s an unexpected relief when Acxa goes in to bring Keith his daily meals and finds him lucid and exhausted. As soon as he gets word that Keith’s heat has broken, Shiro banishes himself, doubting Keith will be eager to see him any time soon. Most omegas remember their heats, as far as Shiro knows, and given his luck he doubts there will be any blessed amnesia to erase the mutual shame of witnessing such an intimate time, even through a door. He won’t make Keith remember that any more than he needs to, though.</p><p>It’s a little daunting riding across the estate alone, but Shiro is getting more used to holding the reins with one arm and his gelding is faultlessly calm as they pick their way through the fields and woods. Shiro finds himself drawn to the river, and stops there, dismounting with only minor difficulty and letting his gelding graze nearby as he settles on the bank.</p><p>The river isn’t very large, but large enough, and deep enough to drown in at several places. He thinks of Keith here, alone and lost in heat and grief, and shivers.</p><p>Shiro thinks of Acxa’s line of questioning once more, as he often has these past three days. After all – he could have refused the summons. He could have stayed on his farm, with his family, and left the wealthy omega heir to find a different chaperone. But he didn’t do that. And when Shiro searches for the answer, he isn’t entirely proud of what he comes up with.</p><p>He saw in that letter a chance to be a hero. Keith, he is reasonably certain, does not need a hero – but Shiro thinks maybe he needs to at least feel like he could be one. He had tried to be a hero in the war, and instead discovered any heroism on the battlefield was more often than not thinly disguised brutality hailed as bravery and loyalty. And he couldn’t very well be a hero on the farm to anyone other than the sheep and the cows and perhaps his mother – but, no, they both knew Ryou was the hero, there.</p><p>But here, at Blackwood Manor – perhaps he can be something. Not a hero, maybe, but someone with a purpose greater than himself. And if that purpose happens to be protecting a rather strange, rather sheltered, rather endearing, rather unfairly beautiful omega, then…Shiro thinks that’s a purpose worth pursuing.</p><p>Unless Keith sends him back to the farm with his tail between his legs after this.</p><p>Shiro sighs, strips off his shirt and pants, and wades into the river to wash off the heat-scent he swears still clings to him. He’s scrubbing at his chest and idly watching some tadpoles dart through the shallows when a shadow falls over the sun-dappled river and the hairs on the back of Shiro’s neck prickle. His nostrils flare. Keith.</p><p>Alarming, really, that he’s already so attuned to the omega’s scent, even out of heat.</p><p>Slowly, Shiro turns to look at him, but keeps his body turned away for modesty’s sake. Keith stands on the bank in his black, lace-trimmed mourning decor as usual, but his expression is new — angry, almost, color high in his cheeks, jaw tight, and brow low. Shiro braces himself.</p><p>“Mr. Shirogane,” Keith says. “Acxa suspected you were running off, but you don’t strike me as a coward. You’re not running off, are you?”</p><p>“No.” Shiro raises an eyebrow, feeling bold though he has no right to, bare as he is under the omega’s calculating gaze. “What do I strike you as, Mr. Blackwood?”</p><p>Keith’s mouth twists. “I don’t know, yet.” He pauses, gaze raking down Shiro’s chest coolly before lifting again – though not cool enough that Shiro misses his darkening blush. “An alpha who can control himself well enough around a heat-addled omega to guard them, if nothing else.”</p><p>“If nothing else,” Shiro repeats. “After all, what else would I be here for?”</p><p>Keith folds his arms. There’s something defensive in the gesture. “What else, indeed. Acxa tells me that alphas sometimes bond to omegas after catching a whiff of their heat-scent and become possessive, jealous creatures who scare off any other hopeful mates. I want to make it clear that that’s not what you’re here for.” <em>You could never be my mate. You’re not worthy – of me, of my fortune, nor of my title nor lands nor family name.</em></p><p>“It is clear,” Shiro says. “Crystal.”</p><p>Keith exhales. “Good.” He tilts his head. “That being said, I am not too proud to admit that it is a small comfort to have an alpha...around. An alpha I can trust. Are you such an alpha, I wonder?”</p><p>“Do you want me to swear an oath?” Shiro muses. “Pledge my fealty, perhaps, or sign my name in blood.”</p><p>Keith’s mouth twitches. “An alpha I can trust, with a sense of humor, too,” he murmurs, not looking away from Shiro’s bare chest. He may be sheltered, but his lack of exposure to society at large has not made him shy – rather the opposite. Any good, demure omega of Keith’s rank would avert their eyes from the sight of an alpha bathing in their estate river. Keith averts nothing. </p><p>“No oath is needed – you strike me as a man of your word,” Keith says finally, and turns away, back to his waiting horse. Shiro is afforded a painfully good view of his figure in profile, the black riding pants hugging his waist and thighs with shameless closeness. “Finish your bath and return to the manor. There is much to manage on the estate, and we have three lost days to make up for.”</p><p>With that, Keith swings himself up into the saddle with hardly a wince, and rides off through the woods, leaving Shiro blinking and dripping in the river, wondering what precisely just happened.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you may notice that this is now Officially chapter 2 of 10. subject to change because i have occasionally been known to get carried away with wordcounts - but expect 10 chapters for now!</p>
<p>thank you for your support on this fic; I'm so glad so many people are as excited about it as I am :'D </p>
<p>mind the new tags as I plot this out more, but there shouldn't be any new surprises after this point (and if there are any, they'll be noted in the a/n beforehand! for this chapter - tw: implied/referenced animal abuse)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They go to an art gallery together as soon as Keith is satisfied that the estate is not crumbling in his father’s wake, which is exactly a week after his heat ends.</p>
<p>It is a week of mind-numbing paperwork and Keith hardly letting Shiro out of his sight, to the point that Shiro feels like he’s the one being guarded, now. When Keith first says they are going to an art gallery, Shiro makes the mistake of trying to object – Keith’s heat-scent has not entirely left him, or perhaps Shiro just has a sensitive nose. Either way, he suggests, perhaps they could start smaller with Keith’s introduction into society?</p>
<p>Keith rejects the idea instantly. Doesn’t even really seem to view it as much of an idea, honestly. He just gives Shiro a look and says, “We are going to the art gallery. You said I ought to go out, didn’t you?”</p>
<p>And, well, Shiro did say that.</p>
<p>So they go, riding side by side in the Blackwood carriage. Keith is in full mourning attire complete with a black, gauzy veil. The veil is more functional than aesthetic, though the aesthetic is striking — as they step from the carriage, Keith attracts more than a few glances. Such mourning attire is not uncommon, but onlookers note the family crest on the carriage, and its occupants, and do what people do best — they begin to talk.</p>
<p>The gallery is in a small hamlet not far from Blackwood Manor, placed within a quaint villa. They are admitted in without issue, and once inside the cool halls, they walk from painting to painting together. </p>
<p>Keith does not remove his veil until they reach a particularly large piece, a painting of a ship aflame in a dark harbor. The flames are so vivid they seem to jump off the canvas. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Keith murmurs, voice awash with awe. “Shiro, look at the city, at all the colors of the lights, and there, the little people in the windows –”</p>
<p>“Excuse me, but I must ask – are you by chance the son of the late Mr. Blackwood?”</p>
<p>Keith turns, as does Shiro, to the stranger. Shiro immediately bristles. It’s another alpha, older and with an unpleasantly false smile and damp, moldering scent, and Keith’s face at once twists in discomfort; he takes a step back, to Shiro’s side. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith says with difficulty, “I am he. Please, if you wish to make a social call, another time –”</p>
<p>“I am Sir Throk. Knighted by the Queen Herself, of course. I have sent you several letters, but never received a reply —”</p>
<p>Shiro steps between them, as Keith looks increasingly on the verge of vomiting. He really wasn’t joking. “He asked you to leave,<em> sir. </em>Let him enjoy the gallery in peace.”</p>
<p>“And who might you be?” Throk inquires, suspicion clear in his tone. It’s painfully obvious that Shiro’s manner of speaking is not of their estate, but frankly, he could give less of a fuck what this man thinks of him. </p>
<p>“A friend,” Shiro replies. “Good <em>day.”</em> He stands his ground, until at last Throk frowns at him and walks away. Shiro doesn’t realize Keith has grabbed onto his jacket and buried his face in the fabric until someone clears their throat, and he turns hastily. </p>
<p>Keith is trembling and his breaths are shallow. “I feel faint,” he gasps when Shiro manages to extricate him and guide him off to a secluded alcove, away from the gossiping guests. “That one – he smelled foul, unspeakably foul –”</p>
<p>“On that, we agree,” Shiro mutters, glaring off into the gallery at any guests who dare to peer in their general direction. “I’m sorry, Keith. I see now why you were...reluctant to visit.”</p>
<p>“But the paintings are so wonderful,” Keith whispers, and Shiro’s heart aches at the wretched longing in his voice. “I want to see the rest, but I...” Keith trails off, his gaze fixed on a point behind Shiro, and anxiously Shiro turns, preparing to fend off another malodorous alpha, but Keith’s expression is not one of distress, and when he murmurs, <em>“Oh,”</em> he doesn’t sound distressed, either.</p>
<p>Shiro’s eyes narrow. It <em>is</em> another alpha, but even Shiro can admit Sir Throk wouldn’t hold a candle to this stranger. He’s wealthy, clearly, but in an elegant rather than gaudy way – his attire is all perfectly tailored to his imposing form, for though he is slender, his shoulders are broad and he looks quite tall. His hair is his most striking feature, long and pale as birch-bark against dusk brown skin, tied neatly in a waved tumble down his back. He wears a black hat which casts a slight shadow over his handsome face and bright eyes. Shiro immediately distrusts him.</p>
<p>Keith stands shocked, lips parted and face dusted pink. Shiro frowns at him. “Keith, what is it?”</p>
<p>“It’s good,” he murmurs, bewildered, “not just <em>good,</em> it’s – like the rose gardens in full bloom, I –”</p>
<p>The other alpha reaches them, standing at a respectful distance, but even from there, Shiro can smell..<em>.something.</em> It <em>doesn’t </em>smell like roses, not living ones, anyway. Nor does it smell like the typical aversion alphas can have to other alpha scents. No, this is something rotten, a cloying fragrance that makes Shiro’s hand curl into a fist at his side, so intense is its wrongness. Yet Keith gazes up at him, eyes wide, expression still wary but not nearly as wary as Shiro fears he ought to be.</p>
<p>“Hello,” the stranger says, his voice as pleasant as his face, which makes Shiro dislike him even more. “My apologies if I’m interrupting anything – I simply wished to make certain you were alright. You seem quite upset, and I wanted to offer assistance, if it is needed.”</p>
<p>“I – I am fine.” Keith wets his lips. “Who are you?” </p>
<p>The stranger’s gaze flicks to Shiro, then back to Keith. The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “How rude of me. I am Lord Lotor Sinclair, of London, but recently relocated to the countryside.” He nods briskly to Shiro. “Is this alpha bothering you?”</p>
<p><em>Sinclair. </em>Shiro bristles, and Keith blinks in confusion. “What? Oh – no, this is –”</p>
<p>“Shirogane,” Shiro says, shortly, eyes not leaving Lotor’s. The other alpha’s scent chokes him, though Lotor is wearing gloves and a cravat – how is it possible for a scent to be so strong?</p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith finishes, gaze darting to him, then straight back to Lotor. “Mr. Shirogane is my companion.”</p>
<p>Shiro mentally yells and Lotor’s eyebrows shoot up. “Your <em>companion,” </em>he repeats. “Is that so?”</p>
<p>“I am – a family friend,” Shiro retorts. </p>
<p>“Ah,” Lotor says. “How very intriguing. Because, you see, I thought I heard a rumor that Keith Blackwood of Blackwood Manor was in this very gallery, and the Blackwood family is one associated with very high company indeed.” He smiles. Shiro wants to throttle him.</p>
<p>Keith, apparently oblivious to the jab, peers up at Lotor with guarded wonder. “The rumor was true,” he says, hesitantly. “I am Keith Blackwood. Did...did you know my father?”</p>
<p>If Keith’s father were here, Shiro thinks Lotor would be running for the hills by now. But something tells Shiro it would not be welcome for him to bare his fangs at the nosy alpha and threaten to rip out his throat. They’re in <em>polite society,</em> after all. </p>
<p>“I did not, more’s the pity,” Lotor sighs, “I’ve heard so many great things about him. I can only imagine his son continues his legacy and will make him so very proud.”</p>
<p>Keith gives him a small, uncertain smile. “That’s kind of you to say.”</p>
<p>“It’s the truth,” Lotor replies. “I hope you’ll forgive my impudence, but...I wondered if you might like to have tea sometime. I know we’ve only just met, but as I said I’ve just come from the city and...I’m hoping to get to know my neighbors a little better.”</p>
<p>“Tea,” Keith repeats. “I, um, yes, I like tea.”</p>
<p>“Wonderful,” Lotor says. “I’m afraid it will have to be at yours, since my manor is still being refurbished – terribly embarrassing, I know.”</p>
<p>Shiro does not want to let this man step a single foot inside Keith’s home, but from the way the omega’s eyes gleam, he’s already lost that battle. “It’s alright,” Keith says. “Blackwood Manor would be happy to have you.”</p>
<p>“You’re too kind,” Lotor murmurs. “Would this Saturday be a possibility for you?”</p>
<p>“Saturday,” Keith repeats. “Yes. Alright.”</p>
<p>Lotor smiles at him again, and gives a short bow. “Then I will see you Saturday for teatime,” Lotor tells him, and eyes Shiro, “and I assume Mr. Shirogane will be acting as chaperone?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Shiro grits out. “It’s only proper, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Lotor’s mouth thins. “Mm. Quite. Good day, Mr. Shirogane. Keith.” He tips his hat, turns on his heel, and saunters off.</p>
<p>Shiro glares daggers into his back, and Keith touches his wrist. When Shiro looks down at him, Keith is frowning. “He was being nice,” Keith says. “Why do you smell so angry?”</p>
<p>Shiro frowns back and forces himself to relax, though it’s hard to do with Lotor’s awful scent still lingering. “Nice alphas aren’t always good alphas,” he retorts. “I don’t trust his intentions towards you.”</p>
<p>Keith blinks, and flushes slightly. “Shiro,” he sighs, “I’m not a fool. And you’re not my father. I am perfectly capable of making my own choices. He’s being friendly.”</p>
<p>“Alphas do not pursue omegas to be friends,” Shiro retorts.</p>
<p>Keith’s brow lowers. “Well – perhaps not. But we will cross that bridge if we get to it, and besides – I don’t think I’d mind so much if he did try to court me, if that is, after all, what he intends. He’s an improvement upon all the others, truth be told.”</p>
<p>Shiro swallows back bile. “Did you not smell him, Keith? There’s something<em> wrong </em>with him.”</p>
<p>Keith looks at him askance. “Wrong? Whatever do you mean? Maybe he smells wrong to an alpha, but –” He flushes deeper. “To me, he smelled like what I think an alpha is meant to smell like to an omega.”</p>
<p>“Not like<em> tea, </em>you mean.”</p>
<p>Keith narrows his eyes. “I want to go home,” he says. “This gallery is beginning to stink of jealousy.”</p>
<p>“Very well, sir,” Shiro mutters, and stalks off to the carriage with Keith close behind, unable to get the smell of rotting roses out of his head.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Keith is very short with him for the next week, until Lord Lotor comes for tea and Shiro is forced to sit in the parlor with the two of them, seething in his armchair as the two of them chatter away about meaningless things like the weather and politics. Shiro is mentally debating if it would be possible to drown oneself in a cup of tea when he is unexpectedly, and most unfortunately, addressed by Lord Lotor.</p>
<p>“Mr. Shirogane, did you hear a word I just said?”</p>
<p>Shiro looks up from his tea with a cool stare, unwilling to be any more civil than he is required to be, here. “No, tragically I’m terribly afraid I did not catch a bit of it. Was it important, sir?”</p>
<p>He only includes the honorific as a mockery, and Lord Lotor’s eyes narrow. Keith gives Shiro a small frown, but otherwise does not interject. </p>
<p>“Oh, perhaps not,” Lotor drawls. “I was only asking about your humble origins. I’ve heard so many tales about the wild alphas of the north, and I must say I’m a little disappointed.”</p>
<p>Shiro grits his teeth politely. “Is that so?”</p>
<p>Lotor waves a hand. “Yes, well, Keith and I were just discussing the north; my family once had a lovely estate there, up in the mountains. Though you and your family are from the lowlands, is that not true?”</p>
<p>“It is true,” Shiro says. </p>
<p>“The lowlands always struck me as a mean place to live,” Lotor continues, “what with the bogs and the sheep dung and the awful weather. Can you confirm?”</p>
<p>“The whole country has awful weather,” Shiro retorts. </p>
<p>“It is decidedly less awful when viewed contemplatively through the window from the safety of one’s study,” Lotor chuckles. “Almost poetic, in fact.” He tilts his head. “Do you like poetry, Mr. Shirogane?”</p>
<p>In truth, the only poems Shiro can remember are the ones in the little faded book his mother gave him as a child, but he’s not eager to be mocked further, and if Lotor brings his mother into this, Shiro can’t promise there won’t be bloodshed. So instead, he elects to ignore Lotor and drink his tea. </p>
<p>It’s extremely disrespectful, which is, Shiro thinks, exactly how Lord Lotor deserves to be treated. Where Shiro comes from, one earns respect through their character and actions, not through their family name and how much coin is in their pocket.</p>
<p>“It seems Mr. Shirogane is not one for polite conversation,” Lord Lotor remarks. “I suppose there is not much of it on sheep farms or battlegrounds.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s grip tightens around his teacup in silent fury, but he keeps his head down, because if he snaps at the other alpha and Keith glares at him for another week, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to bear it. Patience is a virtue, he tells himself.</p>
<p>But it is Keith who snaps, with a sharpness that startles them both, “Lord Lotor, you forget yourself. You are my guest here and I will not have you insult Mr. Shirogane under my roof.”</p>
<p>Both alphas blink at the incensed omega, who is glaring openly at Lotor. Shiro straightens up in disbelief, tea forgotten. Keith is...defending him? Shiro’s gaze slides to Lotor, who looks flustered, to say the least. His jaw tightens and Shiro’s brow lowers, eyes saying, <em>You heard him.</em></p>
<p>“Forgive me, Keith,” Lotor starts.</p>
<p>“You wronged Mr. Shirogane, not me,” Keith retorts. </p>
<p>Lotor, with effort, turns to Shiro. “You have my sincerest apologies, Mr. Shirogane. I did not mean to offend.”</p>
<p>“I think you did,” Shiro says before he can stop himself, but Keith doesn’t object, and in fact smiles slightly into his tea. “See that you don’t do so again.” He leaves off every honorific he ought to address Lotor with – no <em>sir</em> or<em> my lord</em> for him – and he’s sure the other alpha notices.</p>
<p>Lotor’s eyes narrow. “I would not dream of it, Mr. Shirogane.”</p>
<p>Keith leans back in his chair. “Good. Speaking of the north, Shiro –” at this casual name, Lotor’s eyebrow raises ever so slightly and Keith’s smile sharpens, “– have you many wolves, up there? I’ve never seen one for myself, unfortunately. Apparently, the alphas in the south were too fond of hunting them – what a disappointing lack of control.” </p>
<p>Shiro manages not to snort, with difficulty. “Wolves? Oh, yes – we have wolves aplenty in the north.”</p>
<p>“Have you ever seen a wolf, Lord Lotor?” Keith asks, turning briskly on the other alpha, head tilted and eyes brightly gleaming. “In the flesh, I mean, not some sad stuffed imitation.”</p>
<p>Lotor looks from Keith to Shiro, his brow lifting higher, his smile thin and curling. “Indeed,” he murmurs, “I’ve met my fair share of wolves. Perhaps, when my estate is complete, I might persuade my acquaintances to bring a wolf or two for you to marvel at.”</p>
<p>“How thoughtful,” Keith says. “Are you done with your tea?”</p>
<p>Shiro chokes on his own tea as Lotor’s smile freezes and he slowly lowers his cup. “I hope,” Lotor says slowly, “I have not overstayed my welcome.”</p>
<p>“No,” Keith says, considering him, “not yet. But you may go for now, Lord Lotor. It was a pleasant conversation while it lasted.” He rises from his chair, and Lotor hurries to follow. Shiro observes with no small amount of satisfaction that Keith has managed to splinter Lord Lotor’s cool, gentile facade. The other alpha almost looks nervous. His awful scent, too, has shifted – cloying roses soured with a distinct note of, if not fear, then at least uncertainty. Shiro smiles into his teacup and stands as Lotor hastily bows to Keith, gives Shiro a jerky incline of his head, and makes his remarkably dignified exit with Acxa showing him to the door. </p>
<p>As soon as he’s gone, Keith levels his gaze upon Shiro. “You could look a little less pleased with yourself, you know.”</p>
<p>Shiro blinks. “I’m not pleased with myself,” he says. “I’m pleased with you.”</p>
<p>Keith colors, vivid and unmistakable, and Shiro thinks, <em>oh, </em>even though he actually has no idea what<em> that </em>means. “I see,” Keith snaps, and smooths down his jacket, clearing his throat almost violently. “Well. He was rude. To you. In my house. That’s unacceptable. He should learn to be kinder next time.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro agrees, hesitantly. “It’s just – most omegas are not quite so...direct.”</p>
<p>Keith squints at him. “I don’t know if you’re insulting me or not.”</p>
<p>“No!” Shiro exclaims. “Not an insult. Just...an observation.”</p>
<p>“Direct,” Keith repeats. “Hm.” He slowly sits back down to finish his tea, and so does Shiro. “Is directness an unattractive quality?” Keith asks suddenly, and Shiro chokes on his tea again. “To alphas, I mean,” Keith adds, which does not help at all with the choking situation.</p>
<p>“Ah,” Shiro says when he manages to breathe again, “it could be seen as – unconventional.”</p>
<p>“Is unconventional bad?”</p>
<p>Shiro shrugs. “I don’t think so, but I also don’t think you’re asking me.”</p>
<p>Keith frowns down at his tea. “I’m not asking Lord Lotor, either,” he mutters. “I suppose I’m just curious. My father never told me I was odd, so – so how was I supposed to know?”</p>
<p>“You’re not odd,” Shiro says at once, “just...different. I mean, as far as I know, most omegas of your station were raised learning embroidery and how to be, er, good wives and mates. But something tells me your father raised you a little differently.”</p>
<p>“I’m pretty shit at embroidery,” Keith admits. “My father taught me what he knew. I suppose what he knew was how to be an alpha.” Keith’s smile turns rueful. “But he tried his best. I had several nannies, you know, and tutors.” Shiro doesn’t know, absolutely can’t imagine having a string of teachers and caregivers throughout his life, but he nods. “My favorite tutor was the one who taught me how to paint. He only wanted me to paint flowers, at first, and maybe still lifes, but when he caught me painting the sunset one day...he didn’t stop me, just advised me on my colors and techniques. So – I know some things, even if my education wasn’t particularly traditional.”</p>
<p>“Where is your tutor now?” Shiro asks.</p>
<p>Keith’s shoulders slump. “Oh,” he sighs, “I sent him away when my father died. I sent them all away.”</p>
<p>“Except for Acxa?”</p>
<p>“Acxa arrived soon after, a few months before you,” Keith mutters. “My father sent her to – make sure I didn’t do anything foolish, I suppose.”</p>
<p>“Soon after?” Shiro frowns. “But –” But Acxa had spoken as if she were present for Keith’s heats when his father still lived, and she acts like she’s been here for years. </p>
<p>“But?” Keith echoes.</p>
<p>“Nevermind,” Shiro says, pushing aside the strange Acxa business for now. “It is...understandable that you would want to be alone in your mourning.”</p>
<p>“Understandable, yes, but not healthy,” Keith retorts. He sets down his empty teacup and gives Shiro a small smile. “I still don’t entirely know why my father sent you, but he probably thought I needed a different kind of company than Acxa.”</p>
<p>Shiro swallows. “Different kind?”</p>
<p>Keith shrugs. “Less of a servant and more of an equal.”</p>
<p>“We aren’t equals,” Shiro starts, and when he sees Keith’s frown, “do you think we are equals?”</p>
<p>Keith stands stiffly and sets down his teacup. “Shiro,” he says, “if you think I care whether you come from a peat bog or a shining castle, then you’re mistaken. You’re here, with me, by my side. That’s what you do, now. Yes? So I don’t see why it matters.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Shiro says. He’s pretty sure it matters, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut.</p>
<p>“Although I suppose the fact remains that I am an omega heir to an immense fortune, and you are neither an omega nor an heir to an immense fortune, so I see where you got that idea,” Keith concludes, and the way he says it is more matter-of-fact than mocking. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro croaks, “I suppose there is that.”</p>
<p>Keith is kind of fucking bewildering, Shiro decides. </p>
<p>But at least Lord Lotor is gone.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Or so Shiro thinks.</p>
<p>Not a week later, a large package is delivered to Blackwood Manor. It is a wooden box big enough to contain a small child or perhaps a half dozen cats, with a slatted top and many red and black labels stamped all over it. It is delivered to the doorstep in a carriage bearing the Sinclair crest, a purple lion. Acxa and the box’s handler bring it into the foyer. Shiro doesn’t know why a box needs a special handler, but he doesn’t like it.</p>
<p>“What in the world?” Keith muses, stepping closer and peering at the box with interest. </p>
<p>“Sir,” the handler says with a small bow, “Lord Lotor instructed that this be delivered to you with the message, ‘Now you may see a wolf as often as you like.’” </p>
<p>Shiro’s eyes widen, as do Keith’s. “You must be joking,” Keith exclaims, jaw dropping as the handler shakes their head and opens the box. </p>
<p>In the box is a wolf. It’s a young wolf, and Shiro isn’t certain how wolf ages work, but he would guess this one is roughly teenaged, with its scruffy blue-black and gray fur, lanky limbs, and somewhat disproportionate paws, head, and fluffy tail. The wolf stares up at them with golden eyes and its ears flick back, lips pulling back from its teeth and tail curling between its back legs as it lowers its body further into the box. </p>
<p>“It seems frightened,” Shiro notes, resisting the urge to shield Keith from the potential of gnashing teeth. He doesn’t think the wolf is going to attack them – it’s all bark and no bite, cowering and growling at them with all the bravado of a wild creature told that it must now be tame. </p>
<p>The handler shrugs. “He’s a young one; they calm with age. And he’s well-trained, so don’t worry yourself about that – Lord Lotor wanted me to assure you that he would not give you a dangerous animal. This one is trained to be an excellent guard-beast – they tend to bond closely to one person, and can be awful aggressive to anyone else.” The handler eyes Shiro, who the wolf is staring at as it growls softly. “This one has a particular aversion to alphas.”</p>
<p>“I...see.” Keith kneels slowly in front of the box, and everyone else tenses as he reaches out, but the wolf just flattens its body further and lets out a small whine, eyes darting to and fro. “Does it – he? – have a name?”</p>
<p>“No,” the handler says, “just a number, it’s on the tag.” Sure enough, on the heavy leather collar around the wolf’s neck is a metal identification tag with a number engraved in it. 117. The thought of a hundred other wolves like this one is depressing, to say the least. </p>
<p>Keith frowns. “Well,” he declares, “he needs a name. Kosmo, I think. Do you like that name?”</p>
<p>The wolf’s ears slowly tilt forward and he blinks at Keith uncertainly. There can be no mistaking its slight flinch as Keith reaches out to pet its head, and Shiro’s eyes narrow. Well-trained? More like well-broken. But Keith doesn’t seem to notice, or is too enraptured by the wolf to see it, and when he carefully scratches the wolf behind the ears, its tail uncurls and slowly, hesitantly, begins to thump against the bottom of the box. Keith’s smile is as summer-bright as his scent, all unguarded and simple joy, and Shiro cannot be entirely furious with Lotor for this if it makes Keith look like<em> that.</em></p>
<p>“Thank you,” Keith says, glancing up to the handler. “Please give Lord Lotor my gratitude for the gift.”</p>
<p>“Of course, sir.” The handler bows, gives Acxa the details for the wolf’s care and keeping, and Shiro stands by as Keith continues to gently pet the wolf and talk to him. Yes, <em>talk</em> – he doesn’t coo and babytalk to it, but just speaks in low, conversational tones with Kosmo, as if they’re discussing the weather. The wolf, who looks as confused as Shiro feels about the whole thing, just tilts his head and gives another slow thump of his tail.</p>
<p>“A wolf,” Shiro says when the handler leaves and Acxa follows him out. “He gave you a bloody wolf.”</p>
<p>Keith shrugs. “You’ve met the man. He has a flair for the dramatic, I think. Anyway – it’s a good wolf.”</p>
<p>“Not just any wolf,” Shiro mutters, “a wolf with an <em>aversion</em> to alphas.” Kosmo’s gaze has not stopped darting to Shiro with obvious wariness, and Shiro has kept his distance – he’s not keen to lose his other arm. </p>
<p>Keith eyes him. “If you have something to say, just say it.”</p>
<p>“It’s like he’s guarding you,” Shiro mutters, “and I don’t like it.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Keith sighs, “because that’s your job?”</p>
<p>“Well, according to your father –”</p>
<p>Keith lifts a finger. “Don’t.”</p>
<p>“Sorry.”</p>
<p>“No, you’re not.” Keith eyes him, then Kosmo, who tentatively licks his palm. “And anyway, he’s my wolf now, so he’ll do as I say, and since you brought it up, yes, I think I would prefer to have a trained guard dog I chose, rather than an alpha loitering right outside my door because instinct won’t let him leave – even though I never asked for him to be there.”</p>
<p>“Wolf,” Shiro says. “It’s a guard <em>wolf.”</em></p>
<p>“Even better.”</p>
<p>“And it wasn’t just instinct,” Shiro mutters. “I have a duty, don’t I?”</p>
<p>“Not in that,” Keith snaps, face flushed as he ducks his head. “I’m not – blaming you. It was – quite sudden. But I think – in the future, you had best stick to managing the household and whatnot while I am...indisposed.” He clears his throat. </p>
<p>“If that’s what you want,” Shiro says. “You don’t question why the wolf is averse to alphas, then?”</p>
<p>Keith snorts. “I am generally averse to alphas, myself,” he retorts, “so I’m sure he has a good reason, too.”</p>
<p>Shiro squints at Kosmo. “Somehow I doubt it’s because we smell foul to him.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Keith says, “you never know.” He ruffles Kosmo’s mane and grins crookedly. “Don’t worry, wolf. Only one stinky alpha here.”</p>
<p>“Stinky alpha,” Shiro says under his breath, rolling his eyes as Kosmo’s tail starts to thump in earnest.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Kosmo takes the job of guard ‘dog’ very seriously. </p>
<p>Shiro learns this the hard way when he’s bringing Keith tea and leans slightly over him to set the teacup down in front of him. Kosmo seems to decide that that’s close enough, and leaps to his paws with a ferocious snarl that makes Shiro start and spill tea all over his hand – of course, it’s the one time that week that he’s foregone a glove, and he steps back with a hiss of pain as the wolf pads across the room to nose at Keith’s leg, like <em>he’s</em> the one who got hurt, here.</p>
<p>“I will – make more tea,” Shiro grumbles, giving the wolf a pointed glare.</p>
<p>“Kosmo!” Keith scolds. “It’s just Shiro. Down, wolf. I said – <em>mmph.”</em> Kosmo has gone up on his lanky hind legs and is attempting to lick Keith’s face. “Sorry, Shiro,” Keith sighs as he finally manages to push Kosmo away. “Is your hand alright?”</p>
<p>“Just lightly burnt,” Shiro says. “It’s fine.”</p>
<p>Keith winces sympathetically. “Acxa can get you some ice –”</p>
<p>Shiro starts towards the door, which requires crossing in front of Keith, and then Kosmo is on his paws again with a warning yip, teeth bared. Shiro stops, wearily, and they have a staredown. Keith makes an exasperated noise and hauls Kosmo away by the scruff; the wolf goes easily, albeit with a confused whine, and contents himself with licking Keith’s hand while watching Shiro make his escape out of the corner of his eye.</p>
<p>Basically, as long as Kosmo is around, Shiro can’t get within five feet of Keith. This would be fine, and would probably help with establishing boundaries, if Kosmo’s definition of ‘five feet’ hadn’t tended to vary and if Keith didn’t continue to have nightmares.</p>
<p>Since Keith’s heat, Shiro has stayed away from the omega’s bedroom – he doesn’t want to go anywhere he isn’t welcome, and Keith hasn’t cried out in the night, anyway, so there’s been no reason to even try. Some time after Kosmo’s arrival, though, Keith starts screaming bloody murder, and Shiro is awake and running to his room without a second thought, because instincts and duty separately can be ignored, but together, Shiro doesn’t stand a chance. </p>
<p>On another, deeper level, there’s something else – genuine worry, a creeping paranoia that some ruffian has slipped in through the window with a sharp knife, or something equally ridiculous. Ridiculous or not, Shiro worries, and so he runs.</p>
<p>Kosmo is waiting outside the door, head lifted and ears pricked, and he growls loud when he sees Shiro, increasing in volume as the alpha approaches. “Calm down,” Shiro tries, holding his hand up, aiming for placatory. “I’m here to help, wolf.”</p>
<p>Kosmo isn’t convinced, and when he stands his fur is bristling and his tail stands aloft and alert. Keith cries out again and Kosmo whines in clear distress, turning to paw at the door before whirling again on Shiro as he gets closer. “Calm,” Shiro tries again, then calls out, “Keith? Are you awake?”</p>
<p>A muffled sob is his reply, and then Keith gasps, “Shiro – please, come here –”</p>
<p>Shiro starts forward with purpose and the wolf sinks into a threatening crouch, spittle dripping from parted jaws and the whites of his eyes showing as he growls louder. Shiro growls just as loud and Kosmo’s ears flick back. The wolf pants harder as Shiro advances and Shiro sees him thinking about lunging, sees the way his haunches tense and his body lowers, and snaps, <em>“No,”</em> the word echoing loud and stern through the hallway as Shiro lifts his hand. </p>
<p>He just intends to wave it in a kind of shoo-shoo gesture, but Kosmo’s entire demeanor shifts and his gaze tracks the movement of Shiro’s hand with alarm – his growl turns to a terrified whimper and he backs away into the corner, hunched over and cowering, staring up at Shiro like a kicked puppy. </p>
<p>Maybe that’s exactly what he is, Shiro realizes, hastily lowering his hand and blinking at the wolf, who is now entirely submissive, eyes averted and head bowed low. Kosmo whimpers when Shiro reaches for the doorknob, but doesn’t move towards Shiro, and in fact seems to try to press himself closer to the wall to get as far away as possible. Shiro shakes his head, uneasy and disturbed by the wolf’s obvious fear, and opens the door to go to Keith.</p>
<p>Keith is sitting up, curled over his bent knees, head resting upon them as his shoulders tremble. “Shiro,” he whispers, “I – I’m sorry. I know this isn’t – proper. I know that now. You don’t have to – guard me. Here. Like this. I just. Didn’t want to be alone.”</p>
<p>Shiro wets his lips and takes a step into the dark room, the door thudding shut behind him. Kosmo is silent outside. “Do you want me to bring Kosmo in, instead?”</p>
<p>Keith lets out a weak, shuddering laugh. “So I can get wolf fur all over my blankets? He’s not exactly house-trained, you know. And he’s better at the guarding and growling thing than the…” He tightens his grip around his knees. “Than the protecting and comforting thing.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s breath catches. “Am I...good at that?”</p>
<p>Keith lifts his head just enough to peer at Shiro from under messy black bangs. “Don’t fish for compliments,” he mumbles. “It’s unseemly.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t,” Shiro says. “I just – if you need that, I want to be – good at that, for you.”</p>
<p>Keith swallows, lifting his head a little more. “Is this your instinct speaking, or your duty?”</p>
<p>“Little of both,” Shiro admits. “Do you want me to stay, Keith?”</p>
<p>In answer, Keith pats the edge of the bed, and Shiro comes, sitting gingerly there. Keith stays curled. “I hate propriety,” he says suddenly. “And heats.”</p>
<p>Shiro stills. “You’re not – again –?”</p>
<p>Keith huffs. “No. Not every month. Mine are quite irregular. But they make up for that by being hellishly painful.” He pauses. “I don’t know why that’s any of your business.”</p>
<p>“It’s probably not.”</p>
<p>“But I don’t mind you knowing.” Keith peeks up at him again. “Were you uncomfortable, when you shared my bed, even knowing that I didn’t want – anything other than comfort, from you?”</p>
<p>Shiro chooses his words carefully. “The source of my discomfort was not you,” he says, “but society, I suppose. If someone...like Lord Lotor, perhaps...were to find out, it could be a source of scandal –”</p>
<p>“Then I hate society, too,” Keith declares. “What’s so scandalous about you letting me have a full night’s sleep with the aid of your scent, hm? It’s silly.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro hedges, “but – well – there are those who would say that even if the intentions were wholly platonic, an alpha...er, particularly an alpha like myself, who has no fine breeding to speak of, would be physically unable to resist, um. Polluting the Blackwood bloodline with lower-class seed, as it were.” Shiro’s face must be red as a tomato. </p>
<p>Keith jolts upright, gawks at him, and then bursts out laughing. Shiro’s face turns steadily redder, unsure whether Keith is laughing at him or at the absurdity of the accusation. When Keith recovers, he gasps, “Polluting the Blackwood bloodline! <em>What </em>Blackwood bloodline? Shiro, there’s no – my father was the first.” He wipes at his eyes, takes a few breaths, and shakes his head, composed.<em> “Whew.</em> You thought we were old money?”</p>
<p>“Are you not?” Shiro exclaims, flabbergasted. There is <em>no way</em> they’re anything but – the manor is ancient, stately, and the estate is far too expansive with too valuable of a location to belong to anyone without generations of inheritance to draw upon. </p>
<p>Yet to his disbelief, Keith shakes his head. “No...my father was a merchant’s son in the city who ended up having a talent for business. That’s why our neighbors aren’t fond of us, Shiro. That’s why they think we – I – don’t deserve this. That’s why they would take it from me.” He lifts his chin. “Although, truth be told, I think a much easier argument could be made as to why <em>they </em>don’t deserve their centuries of inherited wealth and lands and titles…” He raises an eyebrow. “But that is, I suppose, a treasonous thought.”</p>
<p>“Huh,” Shiro says. “What – what business could your father have possibly had to gain all…” He gestures helplessly around them, “this?”</p>
<p>Keith looks down, growing somber again. “Let’s – not talk about my father, right now.”</p>
<p>Shiro takes in the sight of him: rumpled hair, thin sheen of sweat over his ashen skin, eyes sunken with sleeplessness – and the scent of him, reduced to a fragile thread of fragrant summertime – and nods. “Right. Is...there anything I can do?”</p>
<p>Keith exhales, shoulders slumping. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping anymore tonight,” he admits. “Let’s have tea.”</p>
<p>“Tea at midnight?” Shiro chuckles as Keith climbs out of bed, averting his gaze as the omega pulls on his robe over his nightclothes – black silk, of course. “I doubt Acxa would approve.”</p>
<p>“Acxa’s not my mother,” Keith grumbles. “Even though she is...usually right.” He frowns, shakes his head, and makes for the door with Shiro following at a respectful distance. </p>
<p>They step into the hallway and Shiro pauses. “Ah – Keith, the wolf –”</p>
<p>Kosmo is still in the corner, and he perks up a little at the sight of Keith, but sinks back down when he sees – or smells – Shiro. Keith frowns and goes to him, leaning down to pat him. “What’s wrong?” Keith asks, and glances up at Shiro. “Is he hurt? He’s acting strange.”</p>
<p>Shiro shakes his head and swallows. “Keith – he doesn’t just have an aversion to alphas. He’s scared of them. He was guarding your room and growling at me when I came to check on you, and I tried to tell him to stop, and lifted my hand to shoo him away, but I think he thought I was going to strike him and he ran to the corner.” </p>
<p>Keith looks back down at Kosmo, touch gentling. “Oh,” he says. “I suppose...that’s how some people train animals?” He doesn’t sound happy about it.</p>
<p>“Not good people,” Shiro retorts. “We never trained the farm dogs like that. It’s cruel, and they don’t trust you, that way.”</p>
<p>Keith bites his lip. “I’m sure Lotor didn’t know.”</p>
<p>“And if he did?”</p>
<p>“I know you dislike him. But I don’t think he’s a cruel man. Rude and slightly arrogant, yes, but otherwise kind, and he knows that rudeness won’t be tolerated by me.” Keith hunches his shoulders and pets Kosmo with both hands, brow furrowing. “Anyway, Kosmo is my wolf now.”</p>
<p>Kosmo lowers his head to nuzzle into Keith’s palm, his fluffy tail wrapped protectively around himself and golden eyes fixed flatly on Shiro. “And for that, he’s lucky,” Shiro sighs. “Shall I get the tea started? I don’t think my presence is putting him any more at ease.”</p>
<p>Keith stands. His expression is surprisingly sad when he looks up at Shiro. “I’m sorry Kosmo is frightened of you,” he murmurs. “I know you haven’t done anything to warrant his fear, and I hope it will lessen, in time.” He gives Kosmo a last pet and tells him he’s a very good wolf, but although his tail slowly thumps, Kosmo doesn’t budge.</p>
<p>They go downstairs to the kitchen together, and as he assembles the tea set, Shiro says, “How can you be so certain?”</p>
<p>“So certain about what?” Keith pokes his head out from the pantry and raises a sharp, dark eyebrow like a challenge. </p>
<p>“That I haven’t done anything to make Kosmo fear me.”</p>
<p>Keith slowly emerges from the pantry, arms folded. “You haven’t.”</p>
<p>“How do you –”</p>
<p>“Shiro.” Keith frowns at him. “Do you think I believe that nonsense about alphas being violent brutes unable to control themselves?”</p>
<p>“I was in the war,” Shiro says, “and I can’t claim innocence in being brutish, nor violent.”</p>
<p>“You’re neither of those things with me,” Keith says. “Or with Kosmo. In fact, I’d wager to say that even if you’ve killed a thousand people, you’ve never harmed an animal.”</p>
<p>“Why’s that?” Shiro asks warily.</p>
<p>“Because animals are guiltless,” Keith retorts, “but sometimes, people deserve it.”</p>
<p>Shiro eyes him. “You say that with worrying certainty.”</p>
<p>Keith chuckles, and it is without humor. “Shiro,” he murmurs, “what do you think my nightmares are about? They’re <em>not</em> fond reflections on the innocence of humanity.”</p>
<p>Shiro stiffens. “Did someone...hurt you?”</p>
<p>Instead of answering, Keith rifles through the tea cabinet with newfound determination. Part of Shiro is taken aback by it – somehow, he hadn’t expected the omega to know where his own tea cabinet was. He imagines Keith wandering here late at night, making tea alone in the quiet kitchen, and the lump in his throat grows. </p>
<p>“Any preference for tea?” Keith asks.</p>
<p>“Surprise me,” Shiro says, and then, rethinking, “whichever is your favorite.”</p>
<p>“Hm. Very well,” Keith says, surprised but pleased, and goes about putting the kettle on. They’re quiet in the meantime, and somehow there’s no awkwardness in it. But Shiro keeps glancing at Keith, waiting for him to tell the rest of the story while also knowing that he has no claim to hearing it.</p>
<p>When Keith presents him with the teapot and two cups, Shiro expects him to pour the strong black tea he often drinks, or perhaps the more expensive chai – but instead, the scent that wafts up is the heady, citrus-spiced aroma of bergamot, a rich swirl of vanilla, the strong bite of black tea, and a faint yet lingering fragrance of lavender. Shiro blinks, blows gently on the tea, and takes a curious sip. The flavor blooms on his tongue. He pauses. “Earl Grey?”</p>
<p>Keith hides his face in his own cup. “Yes.”</p>
<p>Shiro takes another sniff, and falters in realization, almost dropping the cup. “Wait. Is this – the tea you thought I smelled like –?”</p>
<p>Keith gives him a crooked smile. “Do you see the appeal? I’ve had this tea imported since I was a child, so it’s mere coincidence – but a very good one, I think.”</p>
<p>Shiro tilts his head. “I really...smell like that, to you?”</p>
<p>“Mm.” Keith is still smiling. His own scent flares sweetly, pleased. “You know, I’d be curious to see what tea I smell like, to you.”</p>
<p>Shiro clears his throat. “That’s not exactly –”</p>
<p>“If you say <em>proper, </em>Shirogane, I’ll dump the entire kettle out.”</p>
<p>“...Noted.” Shiro hesitates, then takes another sip before going to the tea cabinet. It’s extensive, but even so, it only takes a few experimental sniffs and unscrewing of jars before he finds one that is startlingly similar. Keith waits at the kitchen table, legs crossed and chin resting in his palm, watching Shiro with an expression of sleepy, amused indulgence. His hair falls in a messy, silken black tumble over his shoulders, too wild to be considered even halfway decent; but it suits him, that dark, sweet wildness. </p>
<p><em>Focus, Shirogane. </em>Shiro sets about making a second pot of tea, and while they wait, a hulking, fluffy shadow slinks into the kitchen. “Kosmo,” Keith greets, crooking his finger for the wolf to come. “Good wolf. Did you come looking for me?”</p>
<p>Kosmo doesn’t come – he’s still wary – but he settles beside the door, curled up, dutifully watching the hallway for any unlikely intruders. Keith shrugs and accepts the defeat, and leans forward curiously when Shiro brings him his pot of tea and pours him a cup. </p>
<p>Keith sniffs it as Shiro did, and Shiro watches him blush, pupils dilating. The tea in the cup is dark, but where the Earl Grey held a nearly-black heart, the tea in Keith’s cup shines a warm amber where the candlelight catches it. “Summertime,” he muses. “I see what you mean. Which tea is this one?”</p>
<p>Shiro peers at the label. “Er, orange peel, chamomile, hibiscus, lemon grass, wild cherry bark, red clover, and cinnamon.”</p>
<p>Keith makes a soft sound. “What a strange combination. The smell is striking, but I doubt it tastes very good.”</p>
<p>Shiro pours himself a cup and takes an experimental sip. He tries very hard to control his face, but judging by Keith’s darkening blush, he doesn’t entirely manage to do so. “It’s good,” Shiro says. “Quite good.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith says, setting down his own cup with a loud clink. “Who knew?”</p>
<p>Shiro continues drinking the summertime tea, and Keith continues drinking the Earl Grey, and neither of them say anything more about it.</p>
<p>What Keith does say is, “My nightmares are about the people who stole me away as a child.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s gut twists, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know if he’s capable of saying anything without demanding how someone could do such a thing, even though he knows damn well that there are more people like that than one might think.</p>
<p>“I was six, maybe seven?” Keith tilts his head. “Young. But old enough to have lived past that uncertain time where some children are taken by fevers and flus and such. Old enough that it was fairly certain I’d survive at least until marriageable age.” He sighs. “I think that was their reasoning. I don’t remember much – that’s probably for the best. I remember they came in the night, when my father was away, and I remember being scared. I thought they were going to kill me, but I didn’t understand why, and I didn’t really understand what it meant to be killed, either.” He chews his lip. “They wore masks. Never saw their faces. Or maybe that’s just how I remember it, because they didn’t really seem human to me. Couldn’t smell them, either. They were all just – blank.”</p>
<p>“What...what did they do?” Shiro whispers. “Where did they take you?”</p>
<p>“Somewhere dark,” Keith muses. “A cellar, maybe. They didn’t do much of anything except keep me, hold me hostage. That was frightening enough, though.”</p>
<p>“For ransom?”</p>
<p>Keith’s laugh is soft and bitter. “If only it were that simple. No, they wouldn’t have been satisfied with a ransom. They wanted all of it – and they could get that, through me. They planned to do away with my father and raise me as their own, thus claiming the entire Blackwood fortune and estate through me. When I try to remember it, I think they planned to marry me off to one of their own, turn me into a puppet until they didn’t need me anymore. Until they had more heirs, and they’d secured my father’s legacy. But of course, I didn’t understand all that, back then.”</p>
<p>Shiro swallows back bile. “Who were these people?”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Keith says, “that’s the best part. I still have no idea. All I know is this.” Without warning, he grabs one of the kitchen knives and presses it to the table, carving a symbol into the wood with the sharp tip of the blade. It’s a rose, stylized and simple yet unmistakable. “I don’t remember where I saw it – on a cloak, maybe, or a letter – but I remember it was theirs.”</p>
<p>Shiro frowns at it. “A secret society, perhaps?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps.” Keith takes the knife to the table again and scratches the rose out with a grimace. “But honestly, I hope I never have to find out.”</p>
<p>Shiro hesitates. “How did you escape…?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t,” Keith says. “I was rescued. By my father. He…” Keith lowers his gaze. “He made sure they wouldn’t try to hurt me again.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Shiro says. He’s not entirely surprised to hear that Mr. Blackwood is the sort of alpha who would destroy anyone between him and his children, but it’s not something anyone should have to do. “So...they’re all…?”</p>
<p>“Not gone,” Keith says tiredly. “Not all of them, I don’t think. But they got the message. As long as my father was alive, anyway.”</p>
<p>“And now?”</p>
<p>“Now,” Keith sighs, blowing on his tea, “you’re here.”</p>
<p>“No pressure or anything.”</p>
<p>Keith snorts and glances at him. “Don’t worry. I’m not a child anymore. I’ve learned a few things since then.” He delicately places the knife back in the block. The way he holds the hilt is perfectly balanced. </p>
<p>“Huh,” Shiro says, and drinks his tea.</p>
<p>“Huh,” Keith echoes, tone nearly teasing, gaze lingering.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Lotor returns to the manor again, and again, and again. </p>
<p>Shiro remains their unwilling chaperone, but he comforts himself with the fact that at least, this way, he can always keep an eye on the other alpha. Lotor mostly ignores him, except when Keith engages him in their conversations, in which case Lotor is nice to Shiro in a way that always manages to feel at least a little demeaning. Shiro, in reply, always manages to get a few unsubtle insults in. Lotor takes them in stride. Keith notices, and gives Shiro disapproving looks, and sometimes has words with him afterwards, but Shiro refuses to give an inch to Lord Lotor Sinclair.</p>
<p>Lotor is never anything but kind and gracious to Keith, to the point of sycophancy. Shiro distrusts it. He can’t tell if the other alpha is genuinely enamored or genuinely deceitful, and neither option sounds good to Shiro. Lotor’s presence makes him itch, and his scent leaves Shiro with pounding headaches that refuse to fade even hours after he’s left. </p>
<p>Kosmo also doesn’t like Lotor, but he doesn’t snap at him. He cowers, never looks him in the eye, slinks silently around him, meekly offers his head when Lotor reaches out to pet him. Keith notices, but chalks it up to Kosmo being shy and unsure – and anyway, he’s more tame around Lotor than Shiro, so it just ends up making Lotor look better. Shiro can’t be upset with Kosmo, though. The wolf is afraid of Lotor and alphas for a reason; Shiro is convinced.</p>
<p>When Lotor isn’t there; he writes letters. Long letters. Letters that Shiro won’t pry into, because that’s Keith’s private business, but as far as Shiro is concerned, there are far too many letters being sent to and fro. He tells Keith as much.</p>
<p>“We are friends,” Keith retorts, “and we are in correspondence, as friends often are.”</p>
<p>“You seem to be corresponding an awful lot about something,” Shiro says.</p>
<p>Keith sniffs. “He likes to write poems and tell me stories. That’s all.”</p>
<p>“Poems,” Shiro says.</p>
<p>“Yes.” Keith clears his throat. “I admit I’m not really one for poems, but his are...nice.”</p>
<p>“Nice,” Shiro says, with effort.</p>
<p>“Are you a parrot, suddenly?” Keith sighs. “They’re just letters, Shiro. Don’t worry so much.”</p>
<p>To his credit, Shiro does try.</p>
<p>Then Lotor gives Keith the damn perfume.</p>
<p>The circumstances of the gift-giving are suspicious to begin with. They’re chatting as they usually do in the parlor, and then Lotor says to Keith, with his usual careful, neat manner of speaking, “Forgive me for prying, but – on that first day we met in the art gallery, you seemed quite distressed. As you have assured me that Mr. Shirogane here was not the cause of your distress...may I inquire as to what was?”</p>
<p>Keith straightens up, his eyes flicking nervously to Shiro, then back to Lotor. Lotor observes this with a raised brow. “I – was just unused to the crowd.”</p>
<p>“It was not terribly crowded in the salon,” Lotor replies mildly. “You were covering your nose.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s hand curls into a fist and Keith swallows. “Was I?”</p>
<p>“I have heard of a rare affliction that some omegas suffer from,” Lotor continues, “where they are extremely sensitive to other scents, particularly those of alphas...to the point of pain. I know you have not been out in society often, and I do not wish to make any assumptions, but I thought I would ask. Do you suffer from such an affliction, Keith?”</p>
<p>“I…” Keith hesitates. Shiro shakes his head almost imperceptibly, but it’s too late. “Something like that, yes,” Keith admits. “But – your scent does not have that effect.”</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t swear, but it’s a near thing. Lotor’s eyebrow lifts higher. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says, almost gently, if Shiro had not been convinced that he was incapable of being gentle. “In that case, I want to offer you a possible...treatment for your condition. It’s a simple thing: just a perfume. If my scent doesn’t harm you, then a perfume can be distilled from it which will shield you from other scents and allow you to walk through society unbothered. It would be no trouble, Keith. I don’t want you to suffer needlessly.”</p>
<p>Keith blinks, his lips parting. “I – Lord Lotor, really, that isn’t necessary –”</p>
<p>Lotor shrugs. “I’m simply offering.”</p>
<p>“Keith doesn’t need your help,” Shiro snaps, and both of them look at him askance.</p>
<p>Keith bristles and Shiro knows he’s made a mistake. “It is a kind offer,” Keith retorts, “and it is not your place to say if I refuse it or not, Mr. Shirogane.”</p>
<p>“Quite right,” Lotor murmurs. “Keith ought to make that choice for himself. And anyway, why so quickly refuse the help offered to him, if it would make his life easier, and if it was offered out of nothing but concern for a dear friend?”</p>
<p>“I’m not certain you’re offering out of friendly concern,” Shiro mutters, and Keith stands, eyes flashing.</p>
<p>“That is enough,” Keith declares. “Mr. Shirogane, you are dismissed.”</p>
<p>Shiro tenses. “Sir –”</p>
<p>Keith glares at him. <em>“Go, </em>Shiro. Leave us. I would like to speak to Lord Lotor more on this matter – in private.”</p>
<p>Stricken, Shiro stands, but his gaze does not leave Keith’s, and Shiro sees his resolve flicker for a pained moment. “Fine,” Shiro says finally, “but I will be right outside, should you need my aid.”</p>
<p>With that, he goes, not sparing a glance for Lotor, who he knows is smiling smugly nonetheless.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t eavesdrop; he doesn’t think that would help matters at all. But he still overhears a few things by accident – that Keith accepts Lord Lotor’s offer, and that Lotor promises to take Keith all around society as soon as he can freely step foot in it again. </p>
<p>Lotor leaves and Acxa escorts him out as usual. Keith watches him go with a soft expression, though his brow is furrowed with more than a little uncertainty. Shiro stays by the door, arm hanging stiff by his side. </p>
<p>“You cannot act like that,” Keith mutters as soon as Lotor is gone. “It’s rude, and it reflects badly upon me, also.”</p>
<p>“Why do you care what Lord Lotor thinks of you?” Shiro exclaims. “He’s clearly besotted, so I don’t see why it matters!”</p>
<p>Keith’s mouth twists. “Of course it matters! He is being kind –”</p>
<p>“He has ulterior motives –”</p>
<p>“– and maybe I don’t care if he has ulterior motives!” Keith snaps. </p>
<p>Acxa pauses in the doorway, having finished escorting Lotor out. Keith eyes Shiro coolly and nods to the parlor. “We should continue this conversation somewhere more private, if you are so intent on having it.”</p>
<p>“I am,” Shiro says. Keith stalks into the parlor and Shiro closes the door behind them. </p>
<p>Keith sits back down with a huff. “Go on, then,” Keith snaps. “Say your piece.”</p>
<p>“You really don’t see anything wrong with going out into town stinking of Lord Lotor?” Shiro exclaims. </p>
<p>Keith lifts his chin. “His scent is calming, and hardly offensive, to me. If it’s offensive to other alphas, then – then, good. Maybe it will keep them at bay.”</p>
<p>“It’s offensive to me,” Shiro says. </p>
<p>Keith sucks in a breath. “Well, that is unfortunate –”</p>
<p>“I know you’re not this naive, Keith,” Shiro says. “Giving you a perfume based on his scent is hardly a sign of friendship.”</p>
<p>Keith’s face reddens, and he looks away, nails digging into the arms of the chair and back straight. “No,” he says. “No, it isn’t.”</p>
<p>Shiro goes cold. “So you want him to court you, now?”</p>
<p>“Shiro,” Keith says quietly, slumping little by little, like the strength has left him, “you once asked if nineteen wasn’t, in fact, too old to be an unwed omega. I will be twenty in a week. In truth, that <em>is</em> considered too old. And there isn't a Blackwood bloodline - not yet - but I don’t want to be the last Blackwood, Shiro. I don’t want to disappoint my father by letting it all fall to nothing. But – I also know that if I do not take the first good opportunity presented to me, I may be forced into a marriage in which I am reduced to nothing – relegated to the birthing bed and the house, with all of my land, wealth, and rights surrendered wholly to my husband. Make no mistake: that is, legally, what a wed omega is, Shiro. Property.” Keith shivers and sets his jaw. “So, I am in a tricky position here. I wish to get to know Lord Lotor as a person, first, to judge his character, and so far...I have found in him the potential for a kind husband, for a good alpha. That’s the best I can hope for, Shiro, and if there is even a possibility that he could be that for me, I intend to pursue it – why are you laughing?”</p>
<p>Shiro isn’t laughing, exactly. It’s more like an angry chuckle. “A good alpha,” he repeats, and scoffs. “Oh, my mother thought my father was a good alpha, too. And I suppose he was, for the first year or so. Then she got pregnant. Twins: two sons, two alphas. She did everything right; gave him the best legacy an alpha could have. But my father didn’t like children. He left that business to her, while he left the farm to fall to ruin and drank away the family savings at the bar. When she tried to stop him, tried to save the farm from being sold off to the local nobleman, he tried to hurt her. His sons stopped him.” </p>
<p>Keith’s eyes widen. “Your father’s dead – did you –”</p>
<p>Shiro scoffs. “He did that to himself.”</p>
<p>“Surely…” Keith looks down. “Surely you can’t believe all alphas are like that. You’re an alpha, after all.”</p>
<p>“I never claimed to be a good one.”</p>
<p>Keith pauses. “Is that why you’re unwed? Why you claim marriage doesn’t interest you?”</p>
<p>“I don’t intend to abandon you and drink myself into an early grave,” Shiro sighs, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”</p>
<p>“...Abandon me?” Keith blinks at him. “But – we’re not wed.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s nails dig into his palm. “You know what I mean.”</p>
<p>Keith raises an eyebrow. “Do I?”</p>
<p>“I made a promise,” Shiro says, “to your father, to you, and to myself. I intend to keep that promise. That’s why I’m telling you not to trust Lotor.”</p>
<p>Keith frowns, his gaze troubled as he rises and goes to the window, leaning against the frame with a weary heaviness that does not suit him. “We don’t always have a choice in who we trust, Shiro.”</p>
<p>Shiro stands, too, heart thudding. “I won’t let anyone take the legacy your father left behind from you, Keith.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want anyone to take it,” Keith whispers. “I just...want to share it with someone.”</p>
<p>Softer, Shiro says, “I don’t think Lotor plans to share, Keith.”</p>
<p>Keith just shakes his head, and Shiro knows the conversation is over, and feels his own body slump in heavy defeat. “I think I would like to be alone, now,” Keith says. “You are dismissed.”</p>
<p>But Shiro’s already gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT WOW &lt;3 your comments fill me with so much joy</p><p>so glad y'all are enjoying this fic - the D R A M A begins in earnest in this chapter, and I'm so excited to share more soon &gt;:) (hopefully a sooner update than this one - turns out a surprise 12k chapter takes a while to write in this energy-sapping year we're having. BUT IT'S DONE AND I'M SO EXCITED TO SHARE IT!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To Shiro’s mild surprise, Keith doesn’t treat him coldly or with any hint of prejudice after their argument over the perfume — an argument which Shiro soundly loses, judging by the fact that, yes, Lord Lotor delivers the promised perfume and Keith begins to wear it when Lotor takes him out to town. It’s a small mercy that he doesn’t apply it in the manor, but the scent still lingers, and it still repulses Shiro so utterly that he feels on the verge of nausea when he catches a strong whiff of it. Keith thinks he’s exaggerating at first, but it’s when Shiro is forced to admit through gritted teeth that he won’t be able to accompany them as chaperone that Keith falters.</p><p></p><div>
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  <div class="sc-1sp3zau-0 dOxxMg sc-1di2uql-0 dGZWpw">
    <p>“Surely it isn’t that bad,” he says slowly, brows furrowing like two concerned little caterpillars as he leans back in his chair. They’re in his study, a hastily cobbled together room opposite his father’s old study, which has been locked since Shiro arrived. Keith sits behind his huge oaken desk, looking somehow both almost absurdly small behind it and also exactly like he belongs there. “If this is about you not wanting me to go out with him, then —”</p>
    <p>“Keith,” Shiro mutters, “if it was about that, don’t you think I’d be hounding him the entire time? Don’t get me wrong; I would if I could. But I can’t. That’s a failing in my duty to you, and I apologize for that, but I sincerely think that if I try to carry out this particular duty, there’s a high chance of me vomiting up all of the little biscuits from tea, fainting, having a migraine for a week afterwards, or all of the above. And I suspect Lord Lotor is well aware of that fact.”</p>
    <p>Keith is quiet. He looks, wondering, at the tiny perfume bottle resting at the edge of his desk. “Tell me,” he murmurs, “what <em>does</em> it smell like to you, Shiro?”</p>
    <p>Shiro pauses, struggles to sum it up in some way that will even begin to give justice to the unnatural foulness of it. “Dying things,” he says at last, and watches Keith pale. “It smells like...something rotten, and maybe it is sweet to you, but to me the only sweet part of it is the burnt-sugar scent of death.”</p>
    <p>“Death doesn’t smell sweet,” Keith says, but it’s uncertain, as it should be.</p>
    <p>Shiro shakes his head. “It does. But it’s not sweet like anything you’ve smelled before. On the farm, when I was a child, we lost a ewe for a week, and I went looking for her. I found her by the smell, and <em>that</em> is what Lotor smells like, to me. Old death, sweet with sickness. I wouldn’t lie to you about this, Keith.”</p>
    <p>“I don’t think you would,” Keith sighs. He looks very tired, suddenly, too tired for his twenty years, and rests his chin in his hand, turning away to gaze out the window at the estate beyond. </p>
    <p>It’s a vulnerable gesture, turning his back like that, and Shiro is struck by the ridiculous urge to wrap his arms around Keith and hold him, because some noisy and foolish part of his mind tells him that comfort is what this omega needs, someone to embrace and trust and rely on. He could be that person – except that he cannot. </p>
    <p>Shiro is not even in the running for a suitor; they’ve never had that discussion but they simply don’t need to. Why exactly Mr. Blackwood called him here, Shiro cannot say, but what he does know, and what Mr. Blackwood knew, is that Shiro is safely removed from the politics of the wealthy and noble, because Shiro isn’t an eligible bachelor. He isn’t one of them, so he can be an inoffensive third party, a companion and guardian and confidant, but nothing more. It’s a bitter truth but one that Shiro accepts, and one he’s sure Keith accepts, too. </p>
    <p>Keith may<em> say </em>he doesn’t care where Shiro comes from, but the truth is that <em>of course he cares,</em> because <em>everyone </em>in this world of theirs cares about that. Keith’s father may have come from humble origins, but humble origins don’t matter anymore when you’ve amassed a fortune like the one he apparently and mysteriously has. Keith certainly wasn’t raised humbly, and people here view the Blackwoods as they are: extravagantly wealthy, and powerful because of that fact. </p>
    <p>Perhaps as acquaintances and tentative friends Shiro’s own humble origins do not need to take precedence, but courtship and marriage has always been off the table. That table, if he’s being honest, doesn’t even exist for them. </p>
    <p>Alphas like Shiro don’t marry omegas like Keith – this, they both know, and this is why, Shiro suspects, Keith is so unguarded with him. Shiro isn’t a competitor, Shiro isn’t a threat, Shiro is simply here out of duty and loyalty. That is what is expected of him, and to want for more would be unwise and unfruitful. </p>
    <p>So Shiro tells himself not to want, knowing he is bound to fail, but finding himself saying nonetheless, “I’m glad. I don’t want to ever lie to you, Keith. I hope you can trust that.”</p>
    <p>“Trust <em>you, </em>you mean,” Keith says without looking away from the window. “Hm. I hope I can, too.”</p>
    <p>Shiro steps away from his desk. “I’ll...leave you to it, then.”</p>
    <p>Keith glances back, just once, a queer expression on his small, pointed face, like Shiro is a puzzle he hasn’t got all the pieces to, yet. “Yes,” is all he says, and Shiro leaves him.</p>
    <p>*</p>
    <p>When Shiro returns later with some tea, after seeing that the candlelight is still flickering under Keith’s study door, he finds Keith asleep, slumped over his desk and drooling ever so slightly. Elegantly. Shiro tells himself it’s elegant, when in actuality it’s just painfully endearing. </p>
    <p>Shiro should just extinguish the candle and leave him be, but he finds himself rooted to the spot. He physically cannot turn around and leave Keith like this, not when his gaze falls upon the neatly-folded blanket on the window seat and sees the goosebumps prickling over Keith’s bare throat and wrists. He swallows, hard, and then sets down the tea with a resigned <em>clink</em> before fetching the blanket and carefully draping it around Keith’s slight shoulders. </p>
    <p>As he does so, he sees the books on Keith’s desk, two stacked and one open before him. Shiro would have thought nothing of it if he hadn’t caught a few lines in the open book: </p>
    <p>
      <em>The scents of alphas may be unpleasant to other alphas, but typically this aversion fades in time. If the aversion does not lessen, there could be an underlying condition, either with the offended alpha’s olfactory system or with the offending alpha’s unique scent. It should be taken seriously when such an issue persists, as some alphas are genetically predisposed to more sensitive scent-perception, as a result of what is believed to be an evolutionary instinct of detecting danger that omegas may be unaware of. </em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>Much like predatory flowers, it is believed that some alphas may smell extremely desirable to some omegas when their true scent, as perceived by the aforementioned scent-sensitive alphas, is actually very foul and bespeaks their true nature. However, there have not been suitable experiments to prove or disprove this theoretical phenomenon.</em>
    </p>
    <p>The other two books are similarly medical volumes: <em>Abnormal Scent Behaviors of the Nineteenth Century</em> and the equally thrilling <em>Social Conflict Among the Sexes. </em>Shiro tilts his head at the little ink annotation Keith’s made in the corner of the open page: <em>Ask TS if issue persists. Hope not. Would be my luck that the first α who smells so nice and wants to court me is really a predatory flower. </em></p>
    <p>Shiro is struck by a deep, painful stab of guilt. In that moment he hopes, for Keith’s sake, that he’s wrong about Lotor, and that this will indeed be a passing aversion. It’s very likely that Shiro’s own protectiveness of Keith makes him perceive Lotor as a threat.</p>
    <p>But his suspicion doesn’t wane, and when he quietly closes the door to Keith’s study, his gaze lingers on the sleeping omega with fiercely stubborn concern.</p>
    <p>*</p>
    <p>It’s a small mercy that Keith doesn’t spend every day with Lotor. They still go on their rides across the estate and picnic by the river. Tragically, Kosmo often accompanies them, at a distance so as not to scare the horses, but as soon as they settle down and let the horses graze, Kosmo is ready to guard Keith to the death from the nearest threat, which is Shiro.</p>
    <p>Keith is frustrated by it, but his training attempts have not exactly gone smoothly. Kosmo will sit, stay, fetch, and come when called, but only when he feels like it. Shiro now understands fully why wolves are wild and dogs are domesticated, but Keith just keeps trying. Shiro has to commend him for his tenacity, even if the efforts are mostly futile.</p>
    <p>They’re on one of these rides when Shiro is unseated from the saddle. His white gelding is calm and steady most of the time, but he’s still a horse, and horses can be easily spooked. Maybe it’s a snake, or maybe as harmless as a mouse, but either way he feels his gelding balk and then it’s rearing, and Shiro doesn’t even have a hope of getting a proper grip on the reins in time with his remaining hand. He’s thrown into the heather with a startled cry that fades into a dull groan of pain, the wind knocked out of him and his body striking the ground hard enough to bruise, maybe sprain a rib or two. </p>
    <p>Shiro’s had much worse, but he takes a moment to regain his breath and dignity before crawling upright, dazed, his gelding snorting many meters away, stomping anxiously at the ground. Then his gelding rears and whinnies again, and Shiro doesn’t understand why until he sees the blue-black blur of fur bounding across the heath towards him, hears Keith’s panicked shout from up ahead, and realizes he’s in trouble.</p>
    <p>“Kosmo, <em>no!” </em>Keith yells, but even on Strawberry he isn’t fast enough to catch the wolf before he catches Shiro. Still winded, bruised, and caught off-balance, Shiro can’t escape Kosmo like this, and finds himself face to face with the wolf, fully expecting to be mauled. He holds his breath.</p>
    <p>But Kosmo doesn’t maul him. Kosmo’s ears are pricked and his tail is held high, alert, but he just cocks his head somewhat uncertainly at Shiro and then, slowly, presses his wet nose to Shiro’s shoulder, snuffling at his muddy jacket and sore arm. Shiro blinks at him in disbelief, and when they meet each other’s eyes again, Kosmo lets out a soft whine, but not a fearful one, Shiro thinks. </p>
    <p>He hopes, anyway.</p>
    <p>Throat dry, Shiro ekes out, “Hello, wolf. I’m alright. Were you worried about me?”</p>
    <p>It’s a preposterous idea that Kosmo would have been worried about him, but when Shiro says it, Kosmo snuffles in earnest before pulling back, tail relaxing and thumping slowly. </p>
    <p>Keith rides up on Strawberry, his expression distinctly one of panic. “Kosmo!” he shouts. “Bad wolf!”</p>
    <p>Kosmo leaps away from Shiro as if stung, tail curling between his legs and ears pinning back, a whimper low in his throat as Keith dismounts and strides towards them. Kosmo backs away, flattening his body low in the heather and staring up at Keith from flat golden eyes. As soon as Keith sees him, he falters, glancing between Shiro and the wolf with wide eyes. Clinging to the last bits of dignity he has left, Shiro manages to push himself upright and onto his feet, almost falling again as he does so. Keith catches him before he can unbalance and crash back to earth, steadying Shiro’s right side and peering uncertainly up at him.</p>
    <p>The omega is very close. Shiro stares back down at him, focus zeroing in on the shine of perspiration above Keith’s parted lips and the dark fleck of mud high on his cheekbone. Shiro’s a mess, and the mud muffles scents, but Keith’s floats above the grime, bright and warm amidst the cloudy day.</p>
    <p>“Kosmo didn’t hurt you?” Oh. Keith is asking him a question.</p>
    <p>“...No.” Shiro forces himself to step away from Keith and blinks at Kosmo. “I think he just wanted to check on me, actually.”</p>
    <p>Keith’s eyes widen, and he takes a step towards Kosmo, but the wolf whines and averts his gaze. Keith bites his lip. “I think I’ve frightened him…” He glances back at Shiro. “You looked like you fell hard. Are you –”</p>
    <p>“Fine,” Shiro says gruffly, rubbing his right shoulder. “It was bound to happen eventually. I’m still not used to riding without both arms.”</p>
    <p>“Yes, I imagine that would be difficult,” Keith muses. He frowns again at Kosmo, who is still cowering, and drops to crouch in the heather, crooking his finger at the wolf. “Come here, Kosmo. I’m not angry. You’re a good wolf.” Kosmo’s ears slowly relax and tilt forward, and his tail lifts as he takes a tentative step towards Keith. “That’s it,” Keith coaxes, “you don’t have to be afraid. Thank you for not biting Shiro. I’m still not very good at suturing wounds.”</p>
    <p>“Sorry,” Shiro exclaims, “you can <em>suture wounds?”</em></p>
    <p>“Of course,” Keith says primly. “It is a good skill to have. One never knows when it will come in handy.” He furrows his brow. “I’m just...not the best at it. So let’s hope it never comes up.”</p>
    <p>“Let’s hope,” Shiro agrees, gingerly patting his side to inspect the damage. “No sutures needed today, I think.”</p>
    <p>Kosmo has padded close enough to sniff Keith’s hand and give it a hesitant lick, and when Shiro hesitantly walks over to them, the wolf stiffens but doesn’t flee. Keith smiles up at him, and Shiro crouches down beside him. </p>
    <p>“He’s warming up to you,” Keith notes as Kosmo sits back on his haunches and observes them both with an expression Shiro would almost call curious. “I knew he was a wolf with good taste.”</p>
    <p>Shiro blinks at Keith, taken aback. Keith does not elaborate on that. He just keeps smiling at his wolf.</p>
    <p><em>...Huh, </em>Shiro thinks.</p>
    <p>*</p>
    <p>For once, Fate has apparently decided to give Shiro a break, because it’s not two days later that he receives a letter from Ryou. His younger brother – younger by seven minutes – is back from university, and has apparently made a prototype for Shiro’s new right arm. Also apparently, he has given up with architecture and is now an engineer. Inventor. Scientist. Or something like that. He mentions a ‘mentor.’ Shiro is immediately suspicious.</p>
    <p>He practically begs Shiro to come and visit the farm before winter and the first snowfall comes, and though Shiro is loathe to leave Keith alone in Blackwood Manor for long, he trusts Acxa at least enough to keep Keith alive in the meantime. Keith sends him off in one of the family carriages, ignoring Shiro’s weak protests that he’s perfectly happy to rent a cab for himself.</p>
    <p>Keith just gives him a look and says, “The carriage will be faster. I don’t need you getting stuck in the snow, Shiro.”</p>
    <p>“As you wish,” Shiro relents, as if he could ever do anything other than relent, with Keith.</p>
    <p>Keith looks pleased. Keith looking pleased is a weapon in its own right. “Good,” he says, and that’s that.</p>
    <p>The carriage ride is long and uneventful – it takes from dawn to nearly dusk, with a few brief stops for the horses and the driver, before the familiar fields of the Shirogane farm come into view. They aren’t very large fields, but they’re just big enough for the sleepy herd of sheep, the old cow, and the two plow horses, who are waiting beside the fence and whinny in greeting as the carriage rolls up along the bumpy drive. There are no fancy cobblestones and wrought iron gates here. </p>
    <p>The farmhouse is modest, gray brick, square, and squat. To call it two stories would be generous – the second story is more of a drafty attic, and that was where Shiro slept in his childhood. The cold in the winter still haunts him, but he has fond memories of those days. He and Ryou would heap the quilts over themselves, snuggling for warmth in the creaky bed as the snow fell in a hushed cascade just outside. </p>
    <p>In the morning, they would exhale over the cold glass and draw little pictures over it, or else write their names, over and over again. Shiro always got mad because “Takashi” wouldn’t fit on the pane of glass like “Ryou” did. “Kashi” was a little easier, but only Ryou had ever called him that.</p>
    <p>Ryou and his mother come running outside when the carriage is halfway up the drive, and Shiro loathes the glass for getting in the way – through it, in the light of the setting sun, he can see Ryou beaming and waving, and his mother, looking small beside her son, but strong, with arms thick from long days of shearing sheep and kneading dough, and hair piled high in a bun. Despite her age it’s still far more black than gray, though she and Shiro share the silver streak they’ve both had since birth. </p>
    <p>The carriage finally rolls to a halt, and Shiro wastes no time in climbing out, the driver and footman helping with his bags as his mother and brother watch in open wonder. “Kashi!” Ryou exclaims, throwing his arms wide in his usual greeting. “You really are working for someone important – they gave you a carriage and all?”</p>
    <p>“Seems that way,” Shiro replies, approaching him with a small smile and receiving the inevitable bear hug. He and Ryou aren’t identical, not quite, but it’s a near thing. Ryou’s hair is all black and longer, his eyes are a little more brown, and his cheeks are a little chubbier – or so Shiro claims – and he’s the slightest bit shorter, but he makes up for it with a much bigger personality. Shiro was a shy child, and supposes he can still be reserved. Ryou has never been shy a day in his life; Shiro would know.</p>
    <p>“How’s the arm?” Ryou asks seriously when they step apart. “Or...you know. The lack thereof.”</p>
    <p>Shiro wrinkles his nose. “Ha, ha. So funny, I forgot to laugh.”</p>
    <p>Their mother clicks her tongue. “Barely a minute home and you’re already teasing him, Ryou?” She hugs him next, and he has to bend down to do so, carefully wrapping his arm around her aproned body and smiling into her shoulder when she squeezes him tight and adds, “It’s good to have you home, Takashi. We missed you.”</p>
    <p>“I missed you too,” Shiro tells her softly, and then realizes the driver and footman are awkwardly waiting with his bags. “Oh – er, you can just –”</p>
    <p>Mrs. Shirogane snaps into action, directing them where to put the bags and aggressively offering them both supper. While she presumably force feeds them lamb stew, Ryou leans up against the fence with him, looking out over the fields and at the darkening horizon. </p>
    <p>“So,” Ryou starts, “tell me about this very important person you’re working for, Kashi.”</p>
    <p>There’s mischief in his tone. Shiro eyes him. “He’s important,” Shiro says. “Very.”</p>
    <p>Ryou snorts, petting the mane of one of the plow horses who has wandered over, always greedy for attention. “He’s also an omega,” Ryou says without missing a beat. “Isn’t he?” Shiro stiffens, and Ryou huffs. “You smell like him. Don’t give me that look, it’s subtle; I don’t think Mother noticed, but I know what you smell like, and it’s gotten all tinged with sweetness – oh, you <em>don’t</em> like me talking about his scent, <em>do </em>you? Knew it.”</p>
    <p>Shiro glowers helplessly. “It’s not – like that. Shut up,<em> you </em>don’t give me that look! I have nothing to say to you about Keith.”</p>
    <p><em>“Keith,”</em> Ryou repeats, eyebrows arching. </p>
    <p>“Not a word,” Shiro warns, a growl slipping into his voice, and Ryou lifts his hands in surrender with an expression that clearly says he’s not surrendering any time soon.</p>
    <p>“Alright, alright,” Ryou chuckles. “Just curious.”</p>
    <p>“Then I suppose you won’t object to me asking about your time at university? You just smell like sheep, now, so I’m at a disadvantage,” Shiro retorts.</p>
    <p>Ryou turns a little pink and Shiro senses he’s found a weakness. “University was – enlightening,” Ryou says. </p>
    <p>“How so?” Shiro narrows his eyes. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with your new <em>mentor, </em>would it?”</p>
    <p>Ryou clears his throat and leans more heavily against the fence. “Oh, let’s not talk about this.”</p>
    <p>“No? I think we should. I think you have something to say,” Shiro wheedles.</p>
    <p>“Well,” Ryou mumbles, “I mean. You know the university is mostly alphas. Some betas. Er.”</p>
    <p>Shiro blinks at him. “Ah,” he says.</p>
    <p>“Yes, <em>ah,”</em> Ryou grumbles. “It’s not so abnormal, there. No omegas around, and we spent plenty of time together, so, well…”</p>
    <p>Shiro considers it. Is it proper? No. Is it unheard of? Hardly. And besides, they don’t keep secrets from each other, and they don’t judge each other unless something really needs judging. “Alpha or beta?” he says.</p>
    <p>Ryou gives him a look, then sighs in defeat and mumbles something.</p>
    <p>“Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that,” Shiro says, elbowing him.</p>
    <p>“Alpha!” Ryou snaps, and, face burning, glances over his shoulder to make sure no one heard.</p>
    <p>“Hm,” is all Shiro says. “Is he nice?”</p>
    <p>“Nice,” Ryou repeats incredulously, then pauses, ducking his head. “You know, he is pretty nice. Smart, too.”</p>
    <p>“Good,” Shiro says. “What’s his name?”</p>
    <p>
      <em>“I am not telling you his bloody name, Takashi, come on.”</em>
    </p>
    <p>Shiro shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll be able to hunt him down eventually, anyway.” Ryou splutters at him and Shiro grins, calmer now that he has the upper hand. That’s always the way things are with he and Ryou. “Kidding. Probably.”</p>
    <p>Ryou groans at him. “You are terrible.”</p>
    <p>“Maybe just a little.”</p>
    <p>“Awful,” Ryou says again, for emphasis, then brightens up again, quarrel forgotten entirely. “Anyway, want to see the prototypes I’m making for your arm?”</p>
    <p>Shiro gives the horse a last pat and nods. “Lead the way.”</p>
    <p>*</p>
    <p>“Well, I suppose this mentor of yours can’t be too terrible if he taught you how to make things like this,” Shiro says as he tries on the third prototype, the best one yet. It’s a snug but comfortable fit, and he marvels at how the metal fingers move more or less at his behest, guided by leather straps and a complex sort of miniature pulley system, along with the little electrodes that Ryou spent ten minutes convincing him weren’t deadly. Shiro’s still not sure, but it’s easy to forget about the possibility of electrode death when he has a new hand. </p>
    <p>Ryou beams. “It is brilliant, isn’t it?”</p>
    <p>“Mhm.” Shiro peers with interest into the box of spare parts and half-finished prototypes – clearly, Ryou’s been hard at work. Then, tucked under a pile of leather straps, Shiro sees a scrap of parchment. </p>
    <p>He snatches it up before Ryou can intercept and holds it just out of his reach while he skims it, ears growing hot as he does so. It’s not explicitly romantic, but there are certainly...strong undertones. It’s signed by one Akira K. “<em>Akira, </em>huh?” he says, tossing the letter back at his spluttering brother. </p>
    <p>“That was private!” Ryou squawks, snatching it back. </p>
    <p>“Shouldn’t have left it in your toolbox, then,” Shiro counters with a grin. He tells himself it’s not a hollow expression. He’s happy for Ryou – really, truly happy. Ryou’s always talked about settling down, finding a family...it brings him a sense of comfort that it never really has for Shiro. Family is precious; Shiro knows that much. But this is his family, right here. He doesn’t need a new one – and frankly, he’s afraid that if he tried to make one, he might mess it up as badly as his father had. </p>
    <p>Well, it would be hard to top the mess his father made, but Shiro isn’t ruling out the possibility, for everyone’s sake.</p>
    <p>And anyway, it’s not like there’s a long line of people waiting to court him.</p>
    <p>“Kashi?” Ryou is frowning at him. “Did you hear a word I just said?”</p>
    <p>“Sorry,” Shiro sighs, shaking himself and tugging slightly on the arm’s leather straps. “Just – distracted.”</p>
    <p>Ryou gives him a small smile and shrugs. “It’s alright. You’ll be here for a few weeks anyway, hm? So there’s no need to rush.”</p>
    <p>“I suppose not,” Shiro relents.</p>
    <p>“That’s the spirit.” Ryou nods back towards the house, a stone’s throw from the old shed he’s repurposed into a workshop. “Mother is making your favorite dumplings – I’m sure she’d appreciate some help.”</p>
    <p>“Either she’ll appreciate it, or shoo us out of the kitchen like disobedient chickens,” Shiro says.</p>
    <p>Ryou clucks and tucks his hands into his armpits, waving his bent arms around like chicken wings. “Bok, bok.”</p>
    <p>Shiro snorts, unable to stop grinning when Ryou starts bobbing his head, too. “You’re ridiculous.”</p>
    <p>“And your brother,” Ryou clucks. “Don’t you forget it.”</p>
    <p>*</p>
    <p>After supper, Shiro cleans up with his mother while Ryou puts the animals away in the barn. Mrs. Shirogane smiles at him from time to time, but when the dishes and pots are scrubbed clean and dry, her smile falters and she stops him before he can head upstairs.</p>
    <p>“There’s a letter that arrived here for you,” she says quietly, and gingerly draws out an envelope from her apron. “A few months back, though it was sent long before that – it must have gotten delayed in delivery.” She hesitates, and holds it out to him. “It’s from the front, Takashi. From Crimea. From...one Mr. Blackwood.”</p>
    <p>“Ah,” Shiro says, and takes the letter with care, peering at the envelope. Sure enough, it’s Mr. Blackwood’s distinctive handwriting curling across the front, and it’s dated...perhaps a week before his death. Shiro swallows. “Who delivered it?”</p>
    <p>She just shakes her head, though she looks nervous. “An army man; he didn’t give me a name. But I got the impression that this Mr. Blackwood was an important man. Was he?”</p>
    <p>“He was a wealthy man,” Shiro murmurs, “which is, I suppose, the same thing.”</p>
    <p>“Hm.” Her brows are drawn together and her mouth settles into a thin, worried line. “Takashi...you’re safe, aren’t you? This Blackwood hasn’t drawn you into any dangerous sort of business, has he?”</p>
    <p>“Dangerous?” Shiro shakes his head. “Mother, I’m fine –”</p>
    <p>“Don’t you lie to me,” she warns. “If he’s truly so wealthy, then there must be danger in it – there always is, when a fortune is contested. Is it secure? Is his heir another alpha?”</p>
    <p>Shiro is quiet. He lowers his gaze. He never could lie to his mother.</p>
    <p>She sucks in a breath. “You’re guarding an unwed omega heir. Aren’t you?”</p>
    <p>“Guarding,” Shiro repeats, “well, that’s one word for it.”</p>
    <p>She startles him, surging forward and grabbing his jacket, her hands curling into fierce little fists. “You’re not a soldier, Takashi,” she whispers. “You’re not meant for violence. If this Mr. Blackwood were still around, why, I’d…” She shakes her head. “He should not have put you in such a position, Takashi. It’s cruel. Fresh off of one battlefield and straight into another.”</p>
    <p>“It’s not so bad,” Shiro tells her. “It’s something to do – something to make myself useful. That’s all I can hope for, for now.”</p>
    <p>She lets go of him, her brow still furrowed. “You still have your whole life ahead of you, Takashi,” she says. “I just – I just want you to be happy, and safe. Is that so much to ask?”</p>
    <p>“I hope not,” Shiro replies, and he means it. Her lower lip trembles, and when he embraces her, she folds against his chest and holds on for a long time, the delicate scent of warm jasmine surrounding cool bergamot. </p>
    <p>*</p>
    <p>Shiro sits beside the lamp with the letter, reading the message Mr. Blackwood meant to send him before sending him off to Keith.</p>
    <p>It reads:</p>
    <p>
      <em>Mr. Shirogane,</em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>I have begun to think I will die here. Maybe I am wrong. But maybe I am not. And if I am not wrong, and I will die, then I will do so leaving behind what is most precious to me in this world. I would rather not leave him all alone. If I do that, then I fear it will be the end of him and of my name.</em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>So I am faced with a difficult choice: whether or not to trust you. </em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>Let us be frank. You and I are not very good men, Takashi Shirogane. No one in war is. But perhaps you are a good alpha. Let me explain what I mean by this. </em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>You may recall that we were once stationed in a village near Wallachia. It had been ransacked by enemy soldiers, and we were meant to scout for survivors. You and I found two children sheltering in the burnt shell of a house. There was an enemy soldier there, threatening them to keep quiet, another alpha, I think, though with the smoke and the gunpowder it was hard to say. But when you saw those children, I remember one thing: you did not hesitate to kill that soldier. Nor did you hesitate to go to the children afterwards and make certain they were safe. You did not let those children out of your sight until we had returned them to the base camp and reunited them with other survivors.</em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>You may be wondering why I need someone who could kill for my son. I hope it doesn’t come to that – but I have not been entirely honest with Keith about my finances. It was for his own safety, but I meant to tell him when I returned, and I fear that is not going to happen. </em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>What you must understand, Shirogane, is that there are people who would kill to call my fortune their own. I fear my son is in terrible danger. You will be contacted by an ‘A’ in the new year – once she returns to the country. She will tell you more...I cannot write it here, for I cannot risk it falling into the wrong hands. </em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>What I ask of you is far too much. I know that. But I also believe you are a good alpha. As good an alpha as men like us can be. </em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>X Blackwood.</em>
    </p>
    <p>Shiro folds the letter slowly back up into its envelope. He debates burning it, but in the end, he just tucks it into his bag, and sits beside the window for a while, eyeing the dark sky, heavy with the promise of snow.</p>
    <p>*</p>
    <p>His two weeks at his family’s farm pass far too quickly, but they are pleasant, and at times he almost forgets about Keith and Mr. Blackwood’s letter. Almost.</p>
    <p>Ryou works hard on a prosthetic that will fit and serve its purpose, and by the end of the first week he has a functioning model; the second week is spent tweaking it and testing its limits. Shiro works around the farm despite his mother’s protests that he should rest – a part of him resents that, but he also cannot entirely blame her. </p>
    <p>After all, she was the one who picked him up from the military hospital, and the one who nursed him back to health, and convinced him that there was still a life worth living beyond his sickbed. She just worries about him, and Shiro isn’t too proud to admit that sometimes, it is nice to be worried over.</p>
    <p>They spend long afternoons making stew and dumplings together, long mornings putting everything in order around the farm, and long nights telling stories and drinking tea by the fire. It’s an escape, those two weeks – a pocket of time and space utterly removed from the cold, lavish halls of Blackwood Manor. </p>
    <p>It’s both a relief and an uncertainty – when the escape isn’t complete, when Shiro stops to think for too long, he finds himself doused in cold anxiety at the thought of Keith. For all he knows, Lotor has wed him already. No. He can’t think of that. Courtship lasts longer than that. Doesn’t it? And then he remembers the books on Keith’s desk and tells himself that the omega isn’t a fool. He’s just...lonely. It’s this thought which shatters Shiro’s peace the most, because he’s certain Lord Lotor is well aware of that fact, and intends to take full advantage of it. </p>
    <p>So it is that Shiro expects the worst. But what he gets is the Blackwood carriage returning for him on the day they had arranged, and Keith stepping from it, which they had most definitely not arranged.</p>
    <p>Shiro genuinely thinks he might be hallucinating when he sees Keith striding up the muddy drive towards the Shirogane farmhouse, the uncertain driver and footman left in the dust behind him. He wears a long winter cloak, dyed a deep crimson with golden embroidery. His hood is down, and his hair is tossed back by the cold wind. Against the gray sky and drab colors of the farm, he’s striking, to put it lightly.</p>
    <p>Ryou pauses from where he’s helping Shiro muck out the stalls and peers over his shoulder out the stall window. He makes a choked sound. “Is that –”</p>
    <p>“Yes,” Shiro says, dazed. </p>
    <p>Keith is approaching the farmhouse door, and Mrs. Shirogane comes out to greet him; Shiro can see her confused and somewhat suspicious expression from here. Shiro looks down at his filthy overalls and boots and gives Ryou a look of sheer panic. </p>
    <p><em>“Why is he here?”</em> Shiro hisses.</p>
    <p>“I think I should be asking you that!” Ryou exclaims, and they both duck down and out of sight when Keith looks towards the barn. “Uh – I have a spare shirt and there are clean boots over there,” he says in a rush, pointing towards the workshop, which is semi-attached to the barn. Shiro flees to it, keeping his head low all the while, and freezes halfway through buttoning up the spare shirt, struggling with the buttons and his new fingers, dirty overalls tied hastily around his waist, when he hears Keith’s voice strike the air clear as crystal from the barn door.</p>
    <p>“Is Shiro here? Don’t look so scared; nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to surprise him.”</p>
    <p>A pause. “Yes – I think you surprised him, alright,” Ryou manages.</p>
    <p>“You must be Ryou. I almost thought you were him, from a distance,” Keith replies easily, “but you smell quite different, so that’s convenient. Your smell is palatable too, though. I appreciate that.”</p>
    <p>Ryou just makes a choked sound. Shiro can’t blame him, and (not entirely selflessly) decides to save his brother, ducking back into the barn and clearing his throat, aiming for dignified though he still has muck all over his tucked overalls. “Sir,” he greets, ignoring Ryou’s eyebrows. He subtly sniffs. Keith isn't wearing the perfume - a small victory. “You, uh...really didn’t have to come all the way out here.”</p>
    <p>Keith gives him a shrug, sticking his gloved hands deep into his cloak pockets. “I thought it might be fun. Besides, I wanted to see your home.” His gaze focuses on Shiro, eyes narrowing, raking down his body in a way that makes Shiro feel as if the overalls might as well be on the ground. When Keith speaks again, his voice sounds odd, a little higher than usual. “It’s certainly – nice.”</p>
    <p>“Nice,” Shiro repeats in bewilderment. “You think the farm is <em>nice?”</em></p>
    <p>Keith seems to shake himself, gathers himself back up and looks away, instead turning to the plow horse currently in her stall. She gives his palm a curious snuffle when he lifts it, and his lips curl with a small smile. “Yes,” Keith declares, “I do. I like your new arm, too. It’s all very nice. What, did you expect me to not find it nice?”</p>
    <p>“I didn’t expect you to come here,” Shiro says, and this time his tone is sharp, and Keith stiffens, and Ryou stiffens, and Keith’s smile falls as he looks at Shiro again.</p>
    <p>“Should I not have?” Keith asks, quieter. </p>
    <p>“You’re welcome here, of course, as a guest,” Ryou starts.</p>
    <p>“I just don’t understand why,” Shiro says, cutting Ryou off entirely. </p>
    <p>“Why not?” Keith’s frown remains, but there’s a stubborn tilt to it now, as well as to the set of his jaw. “Blackwood Manor is boring, and we will be stuck indoors for long enough when the snows come, so it seemed a waste not to get out a little before then.”</p>
    <p>Shiro gives up. “I suppose,” he says. “Come to fetch me, then?”</p>
    <p><em>“Kashi,” </em>Ryou hisses out of the corner of his mouth.</p>
    <p>“Well, I hoped to meet your family before any fetching occurred,” Keith retorts. “I’ve just met your mother. She’s very kind, but seemed busy. She invited me to stay for dinner and for the night, so we can leave at dawn. I would help her in the kitchen, but I don’t know the first thing about cooking. Do you know how to cook, Shiro?”</p>
    <p>“A little,” Shiro says. Keith is staying the night. At his home. Keith came to see him. <em>Here.</em></p>
    <p>“I’m a much better cook than he is,” Ryou adds.</p>
    <p>Shiro scowls at him, immediately bristling. “That is not true –”</p>
    <p>Keith’s smile is back. Shiro really can never tell if his smile is actively plotting or genuinely guileless. He thinks it’s the latter, somehow, and somehow, that’s worse than if he meant to be so irresistible. “Maybe both of you could teach me, then?”</p>
    <p>“Teach you,” Ryou repeats. Shiro’s gaze slides to him in warning, but Ryou is too flustered by Keith to notice. “Uh, teach you...what?” </p>
    <p>“Cooking,” Keith says, still smiling. “Or baking? I think your mother said something about needing to make bread –”</p>
    <p>“You don’t want to learn how to do that,” Shiro starts, already sweating at the thought of Keith rolling up his perfect tight sleeves and taking off his gloves and kneading fresh dough, all covered in flour and a thin sheen of sweat –</p>
    <p>Keith folds his arms. “I will decide that for myself, and I have decided I want to. I would like to help, Shiro. If you won’t teach me, I’m sure Ryou will.”</p>
    <p>“I will?” Ryou says. </p>
    <p>Whether he means to be or not, Keith is a menace. “It’s hard work,” Shiro mutters, stepping forward, walking past him to the barn entrance. Keith blinks at him. “Just let us make you dinner and host you.”</p>
    <p>“What shall I do in the meantime?” Keith asks curiously. “Finish mucking out the stalls?”</p>
    <p>“No!” Ryou exclaims in horror, and hurries over to Shiro. “Come on, a little bread-making lesson can’t hurt. It’s a good skill.” <em>But it’s not the kind of skill any omega of his station ought to have, </em>he doesn’t say. “The alternative is him getting covered in horse shit,” Ryou hisses into Shiro’s ear, and, well, he does have a point there.</p>
    <p>Shiro swallows. “Fine. If you really wish to.”</p>
    <p>“I do,” Keith declares, and follows them back to the house with a spring in his step. He falters when they don’t go inside immediately, and instead head to the water pump beside the house. “Where are you going…?”</p>
    <p>“We’re filthy,” Ryou informs him cheerfully as Shiro avoids eye contact, “we won’t be making any edible bread like this.”</p>
    <p>“Go inside; let my mother know you want to help,” Shiro mutters. “We’ll be there...in a moment.”</p>
    <p>“Oh,” Keith says, “right, of course,” and casts a last glance at them before heading inside.</p>
    <p>Once at the pump, Ryou strips off his shirt and Shiro follows suit, the overalls and boots coming off after and leaving them in their underclothes. Shiro is pouring a bucket of water over Ryou’s bare back when he sees a flash of movement in the window, and pauses. It’s Keith, and he wasn’t quite quick enough to disguise how closely he was peering out the window, nor how wide his eyes were. His face turns red as Shiro catches his gaze, and then the second is past, and Ryou is reaching for the water bucket to help Shiro rinse off.</p>
    <p>The whole incident leaves Shiro feeling off-balance and confused, and this only worsens once in the kitchen, as clean as they can be. Keith is already standing at the counter with their mother, his coat shed and puffy sleeves rolled up, exposing bare, slender yet strong forearms. They flex as he awkwardly kneads the hefty ball of dough in front of him, and Mrs. Shirogane adjusts his grip again. </p>
    <p>Her scent must not affect Keith too badly, for they’re in close proximity and he looks more embarrassed than repulsed when Shiro and Ryou walk in. “You were right, Shiro,” Keith says, “it is hard work. I feel silly for it, but I didn’t know how much went into making something so simple as bread.”</p>
    <p>Mrs. Shirogane chuckles and steps away from him, but when she meets Shiro’s gaze her brow is low and there’s a faint glimmer of panic in her eyes. He can’t blame her, and he wishes he had more to give her save a helpless little shrug that he hopes conveys a general sense of, <em>Trust me, I had no idea he was coming, either, and I still haven’t the faintest idea as to why he’s here. </em></p>
    <p>“It comes quite easily to you when you make it three times a week,” Mrs. Shirogane tells Keith. “But I was awful at making bread too, once upon a time.”</p>
    <p>“I think you’re just trying to make me feel better,” Keith says with a self-deprecating little smile, and in the afternoon sunshine as he turns to look at the gathered Shiroganes, Shiro is all at once struck by the sight of him in a way he cannot quite remember being struck before. </p>
    <p>Keith is beautiful, yes: this is a simple fact that Shiro accepted long ago. But here, his beauty is stripped bare, his face flushed and warm, his black hair curling all around the high collar of his shirt and against his glowing cheeks, his eyes bright and clever and lips curving ever so gently. And it isn’t just his face, but the form of him, the coat no longer hiding the lithe lines of his body, the graceful curve of his spine and tapered waist and hips, the ripple of muscle in his back and shoulders as he attempts to best the bread yet again.</p>
    <p>“You’re doing very well, Keith,” Shiro finds himself saying.</p>
    <p>Keith stiffens, his shoulders drawing up slightly, and though his neck is still mostly covered there can be no mistaking the sudden bloom of summertime in the small kitchen. Keith’s pale throat bobs as he swallows hard. “Thank you, Shiro,” he manages, barely a whisper, and kneads the bread with more force.</p>
    <p>“Well,” Ryou says, slapping his thighs and starting over to the stove, “shall Kashi and I get the stew ready?”</p>
    <p>“The stew,” Shiro says, still looking at the back of Keith’s head, at the way his hair curls in fine, dark strands at the nape of his neck, “yes.”</p>
    <p>Mrs. Shirogane clears her throat and tosses an onion at him. He catches it, but just barely, and it takes the tears from cutting the onion to distract him from the afterimage of Keith’s face, haloed in the sunshine.</p>
    <p>*</p>
    <p>By the time supper is ready, Keith has managed to make an passable loaf of bread (albeit a little floury) and much more impressive roasted sweet potatoes, glazed with honeyed miso under Mrs. Shirogane’s watchful eye. Ryou showed Keith how to prepare the lamb shoulder for the stew, and Shiro showed Keith how to chop the vegetables for it, because he mistakenly thought this would be the least hands-on activity. </p>
    <p>Unfortunately, Keith’s approach to chopping vegetables turns out to be aggressive enough to juice them instead, and Shiro finds himself steadying Keith’s hand with his own, and Ryou stares at them, and Mrs. Shirogane almost trips, and Shiro starts to pull back once he realizes what he’s done, once it really registers that his bare hand is covering Keith’s slim wrist, fingers curled loose but firm around it. </p>
    <p>But before he can do so, Keith follows the suggested motion, his voice quiet when he says, “Like this?”</p>
    <p>Shiro isn’t pressed up along his back, but he’s standing close, too close for polite company, close enough to feel the heat of him, close enough that, if he wanted to, Shiro could lean down and press his nose to where satin cloth covers sensitive scent glands. He doesn’t do that, of course – but he could.</p>
    <p>“Yes,” Shiro says, and the word comes out rough and loud, and Keith’s fingers tighten around the knife’s handle. Shiro lets go and steps away. “Yes, you’ve got it, now.”</p>
    <p>Hours later, after the stew is ready, the bread is baked, and the potatoes are roasted, Shiro’s hand curls into a fist under the table, remembering that touch, remembering how good it was to have Keith within his grasp. At the table, Shiro and Ryou sit across from each other, with Mrs. Shirogane on one end and Keith at the other. Mrs. Shirogane has been leading the conversation, and Shiro has gotten away with quietly eating his potatoes and slurping his stew as softly as possible, but he’s carefully dipping a thick slice of bread into the stew and trying not to think about how Keith’s hands made this when his mother says, “Isn’t that right, Takashi?”</p>
    <p>Shiro freezes, bread halfway into the stew. “Uh,” he says. “Yes?”</p>
    <p>Ryou grins at him, knowing, and Keith’s eyebrows shoot up. Mrs. Shirogane chuckles. “See? Even he admits it. He was such a disobedient child – he’ll try to tell you it was Ryou, but poor Ryou was just always in the wrong place at the wrong time.”</p>
    <p>Shiro splutters, dropping his bread in the stew in indignation. “Mother –!”</p>
    <p>“Look, you can see the guilt in his eyes,” Mrs. Shirogane says in a stage whisper to Keith, who is starting to smile. “I thought he was a shy boy, could do no wrong, but he got up to so much trouble!”</p>
    <p>Shiro covers his face and rubs his eyes as Ryou cackles. “Yes! Finally, the truth comes out! I would say I forgive you for all the times you got me in trouble, Kashi, but the fury in Mother when you convinced me to help you bury all the apples in the yard to make trees was a force to be reckoned with.”</p>
    <p>“In my defense,” Shiro mutters, “some of them <em>did</em> grow into trees. And you could have easily dug them back up –”</p>
    <p>“You did <em>what?” </em>Keith exclaims.</p>
    <p>“You buried fifty apples, Takashi!” Mrs. Shirogane retorts. “I was not about to spend my precious time on my knees digging in the mud for them.”</p>
    <p>“No, you just made <em>me</em> do that,” Ryou says mournfully. “Me...the innocent…”</p>
    <p>“You buried at least half of those apples,” Shiro grumbles. “You could have said no!”</p>
    <p>“So you admit it!” Ryou crows. “It was your idea!”</p>
    <p>Mrs. Shirogane turns to Keith, who is now grinning in open disbelief. “This is nothing,” she says, “compared to the mud pies incident.”</p>
    <p><em>“STOP,”</em> Shiro begs. </p>
    <p>They don’t stop. Ryou throws up his hands. “The bloody mud pies, yes! I wasn’t even involved in that –”</p>
    <p>“You <em>liar,”</em> Shiro cries.</p>
    <p>“ – Kashi had the bright idea to turn the kitchen into a bakery, except he couldn’t bake, and we had just had a heavy rain, so he filled all the pots and pans up with mud and put some in the oven and almost burned the house down –”</p>
    <p>“The oven was your idea!” Shiro squawks. </p>
    <p>“I had no idea you were such a bad child,” Keith says, chin in hand. </p>
    <p>Mrs. Shirogane and Ryou exchange looks and Shiro avoids eye contact as he fishes the now soggy piece of bread out of his stew. “He wasn’t a bad child,” Mrs. Shirogane murmurs, “he just – looked for adventure where he could find it.” She smiles, small and wistful. “It’s a wonder he didn’t cause even more chaos than he did. Our Takashi here might have been a sickly little child, but he was very clever –”</p>
    <p>Shiro stands abruptly, and everyone looks at him. “Kashi?” Ryou says.</p>
    <p>“I just need some air,” Shiro says, and winces as he says it, for it’s yet another unwelcome reminder of far too many days spent bound to his bed, a weakness of constitution that he tries his best to forget. He’s found it more and more difficult to leave those days behind him after his injury, for those bed-bound days were terribly similar, and there’s a part of him that fears it’s a weakness he never will manage to escape entirely. Perhaps it will return with a vengeance in his later years, and leave him frail and helpless as before, and isn’t that a terrifying thought?</p>
    <p>He leaves the now-quiet kitchen and hears their murmurs behind him, but he barely hears, and tells himself he doesn’t care. His mother didn’t mean any harm, but now Keith knows, and perhaps now he will see Shiro as simply a liability, not a protector, not a companion, not someone useful to him, after all. </p>
    <p>His feet carry him back to the barn, and he sits down on a bale of hay, holding out his right hand before him and studying the delicate metallic joints, the smooth dark wood of the fingers and palm, the glossy, surreal sheen of it in the wan light of the single barn lantern. Around him are the low sounds of animals shifting about in their stalls, settling in for the night. Shiro inhales, exhales, and rubs his temples. This place is home, but it’s also a reminder of the parts of himself he would rather forget, left behind and buried deep in the earth like all those apples.</p>
    <p>From where he sits in the barn, he can see the bare branches of the apple trees that survived, silhouetted against the moonlit sky. He wonders if the fruit they bear is any good.</p>
    <p>Light spills across the yard and a figure emerges from the farmhouse. Shiro watches them approach, and breathes in deep, though he doesn’t have to catch their scent to know it’s Ryou. His brother says nothing as he walks into the barn and sits down on the hay bale beside Shiro.</p>
    <p>“Come to fetch me, too?” Shiro asks, though he knows that isn’t fair of him. </p>
    <p>“Your stew is getting cold,” Ryou tells him. “And I think you and I both know he didn’t come to fetch you, Shiro, or you would have left with him already.”</p>
    <p>Shiro looks down at his boots. “Then why?” Even to his own ears, he sounds pleading.</p>
    <p>Ryou draws in a sharp breath. “I think,” he says, slowly, “that Keith Blackwood might be playing a dangerous game without even knowing he’s doing it.”</p>
    <p>Shiro shakes his head. “I don’t know what you –”</p>
    <p>“We both know that plenty of upper-class omegas like him have...side pieces.” Ryou wrinkles his nose. “Usually not of the same class, either.”</p>
    <p>“I’m not a fool,” Shiro starts. “That isn’t what’s going on, here.”</p>
    <p>“But something is going on,” Ryou counters, lightly, though his expression is dark. “And I’m certain that Mr. Blackwood knew something would go on, asking an alpha to watch over his omega heir the way he did.”</p>
    <p>“He meant it in a paternal way,” Shiro says, but it’s a weak defense and they both know it. “In – a platonic, friendly way…”</p>
    <p>“Paternal,” Ryou repeats flatly. “You know, we may not have had the best father figure example in our lives, Kashi, but the way you look at Keith and the way he smelled when you touched his hand was <em>not</em> paternal – at least, I bloody hope it wasn’t!”</p>
    <p>“Don’t smell Keith,” Shiro mutters before he can stop himself.</p>
    <p>“This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Ryou exclaims. “He’s your employer, not your helpless ward, isn’t he? You don’t have a claim to him, and for your own sake, you need to see that.”</p>
    <p>“Of course I don’t have a claim to him!” Shiro retorts, and Ryou closes his mouth, startled. “I know that, Ryou, of course I know that, and he’s not helpless, but – but he<em> is </em>alone. Alright? He’s alone in this world, with no family beside him, and there are those who want to take advantage of that, and I can’t...I can’t let that happen. That’s the truth, Ryou. That’s all there is to it.”</p>
    <p>Ryou doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t argue, either. He just nods, slowly, and says, “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Kashi.”</p>
    <p>“Hurt,” Shiro repeats, and laughs a little. It’s an unhappy sound. “No offense, Ryou, but I doubt you understand the meaning of that word.”</p>
    <p>Ryou’s shoulders slump and Shiro immediately feels bad, but he doesn’t take it back, because there’s at least a grain of truth in it. Architecture school is not a place where people suffer in the same way as on a battlefield, or in a sickbed. It isn’t fair for him to resent Ryou for being able to romp and play all he wanted to as a child while Shiro was stuck inside, but Shiro has always held that against him at least a little, and they both know it. </p>
    <p>But then Ryou says, “I thought you were going to die, you know. Mother and I didn’t know if you were going to make it. The officers who brought you home didn’t know, either.” His smile is wry and sharp. “They told us to ‘make you comfortable,’ Kashi. You know who they say that about? Dying people.” </p>
    <p>He swallows. “So, no, you’re right – I wasn’t an ill child, and I didn’t get my arm blown off, and I don’t know what war is like – but that hurt, Kashi, thinking you might leave us. Sitting beside you and looking into your eyes when you were so delirious with pain and laudanum that you didn’t even recognize me.” Ryou chews his lip. “You know it’s bad when you can’t recognize someone who has almost the same face as you.”</p>
    <p>Shiro snorts weakly, and tenses when Ryou takes his hand, his left one, and squeezes. “But you didn’t die, Kashi. You didn’t die because you’re the strongest person I know, and because you were being given a second chance. So what if Keith knows you spent most of your childhood coughing and feverish? If he can’t accept that you’re you, and that you are a survivor and always will be, then you should find yourself a new employer.”</p>
    <p>Shiro doesn’t meet his eyes when he says, “But what if Keith is my second chance?”</p>
    <p>Ryou is quiet for a moment. Then he whistles, leans back, and says, “Fuck, Takashi...you really are in trouble, aren’t you.”</p>
    <p>“Maybe,” Shiro concedes. </p>
    <p>“Just…” Ryou exhales. “Remember that this second chance is <em>yours,</em> alright? Don’t sacrifice your own life and future for his sake because you want to be some hero. Don’t get your heart broken, brother.”</p>
    <p>“I don’t intend to,” Shiro says. </p>
    <p>“Nobody does. And yet.”</p>
    <p>Shiro doesn’t justify that with an answer, and Ryou sighs and pats his shoulder. “Come back inside,” he coaxes. “Mother is worried about you.” He pauses. “So is Keith.”</p>
    <p>Shiro eyes him. “I can’t believe Mother said<em> I</em> was the manipulative one.”</p>
    <p>Ryou bats his eyelashes, and tugs Shiro to his feet.</p>
    <p>They go back inside together, and Shiro finds both omegas staring at him as he slinks back to the table – his mother with exasperated concern and Keith with...well, he can’t tell, actually. Already disconcerted, he sits back down and finds that his stew is indeed very cold, but the potatoes are still salvageable. </p>
    <p>“Kashi was feeding the cow; I forgot to, earlier,” Ryou says smoothly as he sits down. Their mother sees through the lie immediately – she’s gotten wily in her age – but Keith just blinks in some confusion. </p>
    <p>“Thank you, Takashi, but you ought to feed yourself, too,” Mrs. Shirogane scolds. “You look skinnier since the last time I saw you – I hope you’re feeding him well at Blackwood Manor, Keith.”</p>
    <p>Keith turns to her, wide-eyed. “Oh – I think – I mean, the food is to your liking there, isn’t it, Shiro?”</p>
    <p>“Yes, it’s fine,” Shiro assures, but Keith doesn’t look very assured.</p>
    <p>“Please say something if it isn’t,” Keith says. “You would say something, wouldn’t you?”</p>
    <p>Shiro ducks his head and stabs a forkful of potatoes. “Of course, Keith.”</p>
    <p>Keith doesn’t look convinced, but he drops the subject, and thankfully so does Mrs. Shirogane. The rest of supper is uneventful, and Shiro speaks only when he must, and it’s only until after supper that the dreaded subject of Lord Lotor comes up.</p>
    <p>“So, Keith,” Mrs. Shirogane says as she scrubs the counters down with Shiro on bucket duty close behind, “forgive me if this is considered an impertinent question, but – out of curiosity, are you courting anyone? You <em>are </em>of marriageable age, hm?”</p>
    <p>Keith, who is sitting at the table and playing with the barn cat who’s come inside to shelter from the cold wind, falters and looks up. “Oh,” he says, as Shiro’s grip tightens on the bucket, “yes, I am. Of marriageable age, and courting someone. Or – well, I suppose he’s courting me.”</p>
    <p>Mrs. Shirogane pauses. “Is that so? Is he handsome? A fine young omega like yourself deserves an alpha just as fine, I should think.”</p>
    <p>Keith clears his throat. “Ah – yes, he’s very handsome. He’s a lord.”</p>
    <p>“A lord!” Mrs. Shirogane exclaims. “Well, isn’t that auspicious! How happy for you, Keith.”</p>
    <p>“Thank you,” Keith says, and Shiro is considering joining the apples six feet under when he adds, “but, er, nothing has been decided yet. It’s – it’s a slower sort of courtship. I just – would like to be certain, you know. Of his...character.”</p>
    <p>“Oh, of course,” Mrs. Shirogane says, nodding smartly. “Wise of you to do so. If only we all had such wisdom.” She purses her lips. “Then again, if I had, I probably wouldn’t have these two.” She gestures to Shiro and Ryou, out in the yard, with a little laugh. “Silver linings, I suppose.”</p>
    <p>“I suppose,” Keith concedes, looking wary about where this conversation is headed.</p>
    <p>Sure enough, she adds, “And what of children? Given any thought to that? I’m sure you have, but –”</p>
    <p>“Mother,” Shiro mutters.</p>
    <p>Keith clears his throat. “Er...yes, I’ve given thought to it. I don’t – know if I’m quite ready for that, though. Eventually, but...”</p>
    <p>“Ah,” Mrs. Shirogane says, “well, no one is, really, but if you’re wed, you should be with child within the year, and perhaps the year after that, too, if you’re lucky – oh, dear, you’ve gone and spilled your tea everywhere, let me get that for you, dear.”</p>
    <p>Keith has, in fact, dropped his teacup of chamomile. He managed to catch the cup in his lap, but the warm tea is pooling on the floor, and some splattered on the unfortunate cat, who is eyeing Keith with suspicion from under the table. Keith’s hand still trembles minutely, and when Shiro looks at him and catches his eye, Keith’s expression is one of flustered panic. </p>
    <p>“I can clean it, really, Mrs. Shirogane,” Keith says suddenly, tearing his gaze away from Shiro, his mouth settling into a thin line. “I don’t want to impose more than I already have. In fact – I, I appreciate your offer to stay the night, but I think Shiro and I should be going, now.”</p>
    <p>“Now?” Mrs. Shirogane exclaims with dismay. “But it’s so late, and it’s not safe to travel at night!”</p>
    <p>“We will be fine,” Keith says. “I told the driver to sleep in the carriage, so we may go when I wake him. Is that agreeable, Shiro?”</p>
    <p>“I will need some time to gather my things,” Shiro says, as startled as his mother by Keith’s sudden change in demeanor, “if you’re sure –”</p>
    <p>“I’m sure, of course I’m sure,” Keith retorts. “Are you?”</p>
    <p>Shiro stares at him. Keith is rattled; that much is clear. His jaw is set and his eyes gleam the way his father’s had when faced with a particularly imposing problem. “Yes,” Shiro says after a beat. “I will be ready soon. Mother, do you need any more help with –”</p>
    <p>“No, no, I’ll ask Ryou if I do,” she says, waving a hand and frowning. “But I really think it’s unwise to travel at night, and it would be no trouble for you to stay here, I promise.”</p>
    <p>“I’m afraid there might be snow in the morning,” Keith says, “and that would delay us even further. But thank you for the offer.”</p>
    <p>Mrs. Shirogane gives Shiro a questioning look, and Shiro just shrugs helplessly. He doesn’t know what goes through Keith’s mind...though he has a few guesses.</p>
    <p>*</p>
    <p>Shiro says his goodbyes in the moonlight in front of the house, embracing his mother and Ryou, thanking his brother for the new arm, and telling his mother that the farm looks better and better after every year under her care. Keith thanks the Shiroganes for their hospitality, something once more formal and awkward in his manner, and when they’re sitting in the carriage across from each other, clattering back down the road, Shiro says, “Are you alright?”</p>
    <p>Keith frowns at him, barely lifting his gaze from where he’s peering out the window, half-leaning against it. “Yes. Are you?”</p>
    <p>“Yes,” Shiro says. “Did my mother upset you?”</p>
    <p>Keith stiffens, sitting up very straight on the seat. “Why would she have upset me?”</p>
    <p>“The subject of children,” Shiro hedges. “You seemed perturbed by it.”</p>
    <p>“I…” Keith’s eyes dart away. “And what if I was?”</p>
    <p>“It would be understandable,” Shiro offers. “Children are a daunting prospect.”</p>
    <p>Keith’s gaze slides back to him. “You think so?”</p>
    <p>“Yes,” Shiro says honestly. </p>
    <p>Keith raises an eyebrow. “Marriage doesn’t interest you. Do children?”</p>
    <p>“I think it’s frowned upon to have children without marriage,” Shiro says.</p>
    <p>“I think you know that’s not quite what I’m asking.”</p>
    <p>“I think…” Shiro struggles to find words. “There’s an appeal in it. In leaving behind something, someone...in raising a life and watching them grow up. But it’s also very frightening.” </p>
    <p>Keith tilts his head. “How so?” His voice is very soft.</p>
    <p>Shiro chuckles, strained, and rubs the back of his head. “Oh, I think I’d be terrified, if I were a father,” he admits. “Terrified that something might happen to them, to...my child. I think I’d be afraid of loving them too fiercely, of not wanting to let them go. Does that make sense?”</p>
    <p>“Yes,” Keith says, at once. “Yes. It does.”</p>
    <p>Shiro swallows. The omega’s eyes are dark and fixed entirely on him with an intensity that frightens him almost as much as the prospect of children. <em>Don’t get your heart broken, brother. </em>Shiro is trying not to, but he feels helpless in the face of – this, whatever <em>this</em> is. In the face of Keith.</p>
    <p>Feeling bold, Shiro seizes upon the moment. “Could you see yourself raising children with Lord Lotor?”</p>
    <p>Abruptly, Keith’s face shutters off. He turns away. Shiro mentally smacks himself. “That’s hardly an appropriate question,” Keith says.</p>
    <p>“I’m sorry,” Shiro starts.</p>
    <p>Keith just shakes his head. Shiro never gets an answer.</p>
    <p>*</p>
    <p>The storm hits them after just a few hours of travel, and soon the carriage rolls to a halt and the driver taps on the window to tell them that the road will become impassable before too long, and Keith declares that they will just have to wait out the storm in the nearest inn.</p>
    <p>The nearest inn happens to be a somewhat questionable establishment with a sour-faced innkeep who eyes Keith and his fine clothes and Shiro and his decidedly less fine clothes and says, “You’ll be wanting two rooms, then?”</p>
    <p>Keith balks at this. “Two? No, we will only be needing one.”</p>
    <p>Shiro’s head jerks to look at him. Keith’s face is resolute. The innkeep clears his throat and says, “Sir, I’m afraid that would be seen as, er...improper, all things considered.”</p>
    <p>And then Keith says, with an impressive amount of indignation, “What do you mean? This is my –” He glances at Shiro, and Shiro realizes with horror that Keith is going to make a poorly calculated decision. “My husband. And we will have our room, thank you very much.”</p>
    <p>The innkeep’s eyes go wide as Shiro’s thoughts spiral into incoherence. “Your – husband – very well, I apologize, here is your key, sir,” he stammers, sliding the key over as Keith primly hands over a bank note that makes the innkeep’s eyes widen further. “Enjoy your stay,” he calls in a strangled voice, barely audible over the deafening howl of the wind outside as Keith and Shiro head upstairs. </p>
    <p>As soon as the room is unlocked and they’re both inside, Shiro takes one look at the single bed and turns to Keith. “What,” he manages, “was that.”</p>
    <p>Keith just shrugs, damn him, and sits on the edge of the bed easy as anything. “He wasn’t going to let us have just one room, otherwise.”</p>
    <p>“So you told him I was your husband,” Shiro says. It's an effort to even get the words out.</p>
    <p>"Yes." Keith frowns. "It's a ruse, obviously. Why are you looking at me like I'm delusional?"</p>
    <p>"You're not," Shiro manages, "but I just - can I ask why we need one room?"</p>
    <p>Keith furrows his brow. “If you must know, I think I’ll feel...well, safer, if you’re nearby. This is the first inn I’ve ever stayed in, and I would prefer to have some company.”</p>
    <p>Shiro eyes him, then the bed. “I...fine. I’ll sleep on the floor, then. There should be a cot, somewhere around here...”</p>
    <p>“What? No, you don’t need to do that,” Keith protests. “I’m comfortable with you sharing the bed, Shiro – you’ve done it before.”</p>
    <p><em>That was a much bigger bed, </em>Shiro thinks, <em>and that still doesn’t make it right.</em> “Exactly,” he mutters, “and you really shouldn’t be comfortable with that.”</p>
    <p>Keith stiffens, eyes narrowing as he takes this in. “Fine,” he snaps, “be like that, then.” There is no other word except petulant to describe the way Keith kicks off his boots, tosses aside his coat, and slips under the covers with a huff, back turned to Shiro. “Be ready to leave in the morning,” Keith adds, “early.”</p>
    <p>“Or as soon as the storm breaks, you mean,” Shiro mutters, glancing at the snow coming down, obscuring the entire window.</p>
    <p>“I said what I said,” Keith grumbles, burrowing deeper into the mattress, which probably feels like rocks to him after years of sleeping on silk.</p>
    <p>Shiro just sighs, and strips off his own coat and boots, rummaging around for a cot until he’s forced to admit that one does not exist. He ends up laying on the hard floor on his coat in front of the window, valiantly trying not to shiver and staring up at the pale glow of the snow outside. </p>
    <p>Keith blows out the candle without Shiro asking him to, and they lay there in uneasy silence until Keith says, “You’re really going to stay on the floor all night? Come up here.”</p>
    <p>Shiro’s breath shallows. “I don’t think I should.”</p>
    <p>“Why not?” Keith sounds sad. Keith sounds so sad, and Shiro is so weak.</p>
    <p>“Get some sleep, Keith.”</p>
    <p>Keith sits up. “Stop being difficult.”</p>
    <p>“I’m the one being difficult?” Shiro mutters. </p>
    <p>“I heard that,” Keith snaps. “You’re going to wake up covered in bruises from that floor.”</p>
    <p>“It’s fine, I promise,” Shiro tries. “I’m perfectly comfortable –”</p>
    <p>“At least take a blanket, I don’t need you catching cold,” Keith says, and tosses the quilt from the bed at him. Shiro catches it numbly, and he doesn’t know what face he’s making, but it feels stricken. Keith pauses when he sees it. “Oh – Shiro, I didn’t mean –”</p>
    <p>“She told you, then.” Shiro sits up stiffly, ignoring the blanket. “I have not been sick for years, Keith. I assure you that will not be a problem.”</p>
    <p>“I didn’t think it would be,” Keith starts, his voice small, but Shiro is already rolling over, away from him staring at the wall. “I apologize, Shiro. She didn’t tell me much, just...that you weren’t well. For a long time. And –”</p>
    <p>“Don’t,” Shiro says. “Just – please, don’t, Keith.”</p>
    <p>Keith is quiet, and Shiro hears the mattress creak and rustle as he rolls away. But then he says, “I don’t think any less of you for it, Shiro. I was comforted, actually – by the thought that you also know how it feels to be stuck behind a window while the rest of the world goes by just outside.”</p>
    <p>“It’s different,” Shiro mutters, still defensive.</p>
    <p>“Maybe it is,” Keith agrees, to his surprise. “You had a mother and a brother, at least, to keep you company. I only had a father who was away most of the time.”</p>
    <p>Shiro looks up, but Keith is curled away, and as he listens, he hears the omega’s breaths even out, little by little, in deepening sleep. Shiro tries to join him, but the floor is too hard, and closing his eyes just makes his swirling thoughts louder. He lays there a while longer before he gives up and rises to his feet, pulling his cloak and boots back on and taking the room key with him, making sure to lock it tight as he leaves. </p>
    <p>The stairs creak as he walks down them, and the innkeep grunts at him as he leaves. The weather is still bad, but the wind isn’t as cutting as before, and Shiro finds himself standing outside in the falling snow, leaning against the wall and looking up at the dark, cloudy sky with a sigh he feels in his bones. </p>
    <p>“What are you doing, Takashi?” he asks himself, right hand flexing in his pocket, wooden digits rasping against each other. “Listen to Ryou. Ryou can be a fool, but he’s right about this. Keith isn’t for you. Keith will never be for you –”</p>
    <p>Something moves in the corner of his vision and Shiro turns to face it, but he’s too slow. The person slams into him, knocking him backwards into the snow, and Shiro opens his mouth to yell but the sound is cut off in a gasp of pain as something sharp pierces his left side. His attacker’s dagger glints in the moonlight, and several thoughts go through Shiro’s mind in quick succession. One, that someone is trying to kill him, two, that they don’t smell like anything, and three, that if someone is trying to kill him, then Keith might be in danger, too. </p>
    <p>It’s this thought which rises above the others and blurs his vision with red. Keith is in danger. If this person kills him, then he will have failed, and there will be no one else to protect Keith. </p>
    <p>Shiro surges up, throwing his attacker off of him, using both hands to grapple them down into the snow as they scramble away. They hiss in his grasp and the blade flashes through the air again, but Shiro catches their wrist with a furious growl and yanks it hard; it cracks in his grip and the blade falls into the snow. Shiro pins them under him, shoving back their hood, and to his bewilderment, finds their face covered by a plain white mask. </p>
    <p>His attacker may be disarmed, but they’re still quick, and they try to twist free, jabbing their knee up into Shiro’s wounded side. He snarls at the pain, and the howling creature in his head tells him it’s best to get this over with fast, before they can get any more openings, before they have any more chances to slip free and hurt Keith. </p>
    <p>Shiro grabs them by the throat, and they begin to thrash under him as he squeezes, but he doesn’t let go, his right hand braced over their chest, holding them down as their movements grow weaker. Distantly, Shiro is aware that his entire left side is wet, and that a smell is rising sick and metallic around them, and his vision is spotting, but he doesn’t let go – not until the body under him is limp and their chest has stopped moving under his wooden palm. </p>
    <p>When he’s sure they’re dead, he reaches for the mask. It comes away easily, and he stares at the face beneath. He doesn’t recognize them, not at all, but with the movement of the mask, their robe shifts, and a piece of folded parchment slips from their pocket. Shiro reaches for it with trembling fingers, fumbling in the cold and clutching his side. </p>
    <p>The message on the parchment is short and simple:</p>
    <p>
      <em>Get Takashi Shirogane out of the way.</em>
    </p>
    <p>It isn’t signed, but stamped neatly beneath these words is a black rose – the very same stylized rose that Keith once carved into the table.</p>
    <p>The same rose that the people who once stole Keith away were wearing. </p>
    <p>Heart pounding, Shiro heaves himself upright, the note slipping from between his fingers, forgotten, as he staggers back to the inn. He ignores the innkeep, who starts from his desk as Shiro limps past him, bleeding all over the floor, and runs as best he can up the stairs, sagging against the banister as the pain from the wound catches up with him. It’s bleeding more than it should, he thinks faintly, and grits his teeth as he fumbles with the key. It’s smeared in blood by the time he gets it into the lock, and there’s no way to make his entrance quiet as he stumbles into the room.</p>
    <p>Keith bolts upright at the thud of Shiro’s boots and the smack of his hand against the doorframe as he narrowly catches himself from falling. “Shiro?” Keith says, and then sees the bloodied handprint Shiro’s left behind, and starts out of bed with a cry, arms outstretched. “Shiro! What –”</p>
    <p>Keith is here. Keith is still alive, he’s still safe. Shiro folds down to his knees in sheer relief, panting, “There was – an assassin – with a note – signed with the rose, Keith, I thought – they had taken you –”</p>
    <p>“Shiro,” Keith whispers, kneeling before him, grasping his shoulders. His hands are shaking. “Shiro, hey, look at me, don’t you dare close your eyes, <em>look at me, </em>it’s going – it’s going to be alright.”</p>
    <p>Shiro slumps into his grasp. “I thought they hurt you,” he whispers back. </p>
    <p><em>“Shiro,”</em> Keith says, and then Shiro crumples forward against him, bleeding out into darkness. </p>
  </div>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AND WE'RE BACK!! It makes me extra excited about this story to see you guys getting so excited about it - and honestly that makes writing it faster much easier sometimes :') SO THANKS, AND ENJOY~</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shiro is playing piano for Keith — it’s a requiem, he thinks, one he knows by heart. His fingers dance across the keys with startling grace, each note perfect, rising and falling in the room with sweet harmony. Keith sighs his appreciation, and Shiro looks over the edge of the piano to where the omega lays in a luxuriant sprawl across the sofa. He’s wearing a loose black robe, and the scent of him wafts through the air, peaches and cream, warm sunshine and wildflowers...but there’s something else, something sour worming its way through the sweetness.</p>
<p>Shiro’s fingers stumble on the keys, and Keith sits up with a stern frown, folding his arms over his half-bared chest. “That’s no good, Shiro,” he scolds. “Do better, next time.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Shiro starts to say, but as he opens his mouth, he feels something trickle from the corner of his lips. The sour scent intensifies, and when Shiro touches his mouth, his fingers come away red. The rot spreads further. Keith is standing, turning away, leaving. Shiro knows that scent — roses, dying, decaying roses. He stands, tries to leave the piano bench —</p>
<p>— and finds himself in a bed, staring with bleary eyes up at a circle of unfamiliar faces. </p>
<p>Their voices rise and fall in a dizzying cacophony around him. “...Mr. Blackwood did a fine job with the sutures, only had to redo a few places...probably saved the alpha’s life…”</p>
<p>Shiro sucks in a panicked, pained breath. “Keith,” he rasps, trying to sit up, and finds himself pushed back down, which does nothing to ease his panic. “Where is Keith –”</p>
<p>“I’m here,” a voice says, and the faces look at each other as a warm hand lands upon Shiro’s brow, brushing his hair back. He looks up, eyes meeting Keith’s where he leans over the head of the bed. “Shiro, you’re badly wounded, but the doctor is here – the constable, too.”</p>
<p>“The rose,” Shiro whispers, “the note, did they find –”</p>
<p>“Yes, it was still on the body,” one of the faces says – the constable, he can assume, an older beta woman with salt and pepper hair. “Most troubling. Seems to be some sort of secret society, one that’s put a target on your back. Mr. Blackwood, again, I must stress the importance of sending a guard with you back to Blackwood Manor.”</p>
<p>“Shiro is my guard,” Keith retorts, his fingers curling on Shiro’s brow.</p>
<p>The doctor, an elderly alpha with an impressive mustache, clears his throat. “With all due respect, Mr. Shirogane here will not be capable of fulfilling that duty for a month or two, at the very least. The blade very nearly pierced vital organs; as it is, the tissue and muscle was badly damaged and the blade was coated in some chemical which exacerbated the bleeding –”</p>
<p>“So they wanted me dead,” Shiro whispers, closing his eyes. </p>
<p>“It appears so,” the constable mutters. “Sir, did you know the assassin, if you were indeed the one who unmasked her?”</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro mumbles, “don’t know – but they didn’t – have a scent.”</p>
<p>The constable and her officers exchange looks. Keith stiffens. “Did you find the cause of this?” he demands.</p>
<p>“Some kind of suppressant, covering the scent glands,” the constable offers reluctantly. “We’ve never seen its like before. High quality...perhaps made in a lab as an experimental substance?”</p>
<p>“Could such a – a suppressant...be used to change one’s scent, also?” Keith whispers.</p>
<p>Shiro is no longer following the line of questioning very well, but he hears the constable say, “If it could, that would be a dangerous substance, indeed.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith says faintly, “indeed.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>When Shiro slips back into uneasy waking, he’s in a carriage, rocking gently to and fro from where he’s swaddled to near-immobility in a heap of blankets. He’s shivering, he realizes, feverish and sweating through his clothes. Keith sits on the opposite seat – but they’re not alone in the carriage. On either side of Keith are two hulking alphas, staring stonily at Shiro, and beside Shiro is a familiar beta, Acxa, her hand resting ever so slightly on Shiro’s blankets. </p>
<p>A growl builds in Shiro’s throat at the sight of the other two alphas so close to Keith, who sits straight-backed and uncomfortable, his face pinched, though strangely he does not look ill at the miasma of scents in the carriage. </p>
<p>The alpha on his left is older, with white hair swept back and braided down his shoulder, and a long, wicked looking scar over his right eye, running down nearly to his mouth. The scent of him is a sharp spice, like cloves and cinnamon. The alpha on his right is younger, but even larger, with long black hair that is similarly braided, and dark eyes that seem to fix on nothing as he stares resolutely ahead. He smells of old leather and freshly-cut cedar.</p>
<p>They both carry massive blades at their hip, of a style Shiro’s never seen before, but which reminds him all too much of the Russian infantry’s sabres, curved and jagged. Shiro swallows. Keith’s gaze darts to him, noticing he’s awake, and he draws in a sharp breath. “It’s alright, Shiro,” he whispers. “We’re almost home. You should rest.”</p>
<p>Shiro stares at the white-haired alpha, who stares back coolly from unblinking hazel eyes. </p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Acxa mutters from beside him, leaning down so the words remain whispered. “Don’t do anything stupid. They’re here to protect you both.”</p>
<p>Every fiber of Shiro’s being resists that – he doesn’t need protecting, and certainly not from other alphas – but his side throbs with pain, and his eyelids are heavy with exhaustion, and it isn’t long before he sinks back into helpless sleep.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>When he next awakes, he is in a bed, but this is one he knows, and he isn’t alone in it. </p>
<p>It makes no sense, but Keith is curled against him, one hand on the nape of his neck, holding Shiro’s head to his chest. The omega is asleep, and he’s purring, a low and soothing rumble through them both. Shiro blinks. Propriety tells him to pull away, but his instincts tell him to press closer, to nuzzle into the soft rise and fall of Keith’s chest and the sweet, rich scent at his throat. He listens to the latter.</p>
<p>From the doorway, there’s a low growl – not the threatening bass of an alpha, but the husky baritone of a beta. Shiro tenses, doesn’t lift his head, but wraps an arm around Keith’s waist under the blankets. </p>
<p>“It’s improper, Kolivan,” Acxa warns, her voice loud enough for Shiro to bristle. “If you are meant to be protecting Keith, why allow this – this deviance?”</p>
<p>There’s a huff, and then a much deeper voice retorts, “It is not deviance. It is natural. You have convinced yourself in this land that any physical contact between the sexes is immoral. I do not understand this. Neither, it seems, does Keith.”</p>
<p>“Keith is sensitive,” Acxa mutters. “And he is courting another, more proper alpha. He would do well to remember that.”</p>
<p>“Is he?” The alpha, Kolivan, pauses. “Interesting. Why is he not courting this one?”</p>
<p>Acxa scoffs. “You must be from far, far away to ask such a question. Shiro is his servant, as I am, and not fit to wed him.”</p>
<p>“Hm. I am not convinced,” Kolivan says. </p>
<p>“He is the son of a sheep farmer,” Acxa snaps. “Keith is the son of a lord in the making.”</p>
<p>“No wonder so many of your people are unhappy in their matches.”</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t want to listen anymore. He breathes in Keith’s scent, and joins him in the blessed quiet of slumber.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Shiro wakes up, and Keith is awake, and still in bed with him, and he thinks he must have died and gone to heaven. </p>
<p>But then he shifts and his side aches, and he rethinks this theory, groaning softly in pain as Keith makes a soft sound. They’re no longer curled together; Keith lays a few inches away, just out of reach. Shiro doesn’t reach out to him, though he longs to do so. </p>
<p>“How are you feeling?” Keith whispers. “You’ve been out for some time.”</p>
<p>“And you’ve been with me,” Shiro says, wondering. Keith gives a small nod. “I – am better, I think. I should be able to return to my duties –”</p>
<p>“Shiro, lay down,” Keith sighs, shaking his head as Shiro starts to sit up. “Don’t worry about all of that. Acxa is tending to the estate and Kolivan and Antok have been guarding us all closely.”</p>
<p>Shiro frowns. “Who – are they?”</p>
<p>Keith frowns back. “Friends of my father’s, apparently. I met Kolivan once before...as a young child. I hardly remember it. But they were listed in his will, and when you were injured and the constable advised we have additional protection, I followed the instructions my father left and called upon them. They came at once. Almost as if they had been waiting for something like this to happen…” He shakes his head. Keith looks very tired, Shiro realizes; his dark eyes peer out from dark circles and they’re more than a little bloodshot. “Anyway,” Keith says, “you’re here, now, and no one bearing that damn rose has come for either of us.”</p>
<p>Shiro swallows. “They were there for me,” he says dully.</p>
<p>Keith’s brow lowers. “Yes, and they failed –”</p>
<p>“I fear I am a liability to you,” Shiro whispers. “If – if I put you in danger –”</p>
<p>“Hush!” Keith snaps. “You have done no such thing. That is the Rose’s fault, not yours. They were there for you because you are a liability to <em>them, </em>because you are my shield. For all we know, you saved my life that night, Shiro.”</p>
<p>Stricken, Shiro stares at him, across the pillow between them. “Is that why you’re here, now?” he asks, stumbling over his own words. “Because you feel you...owe me, for that?”</p>
<p>Keith wrinkles his nose and sits up. “Shiro,” he says flatly, “you can be such a fool, you know that?” He sighs. “Besides, I’m the one who stitched you up afterwards – they tell me you would have bled out, otherwise. So I think we’re even, with the life-saving debts.”</p>
<p>Shiro winces, touching his side. “I...am sorry you had to do that, Keith.”</p>
<p>Keith’s eyes narrow. “Do not<em> apologize</em> for nearly bleeding to death, Shiro. I doubt you planned to get stabbed, and if you did, then I think we have bigger problems to discuss.”</p>
<p>“No, I just –” Shiro draws in a breath. “Thank you. For saving me.”</p>
<p>“What else could I do, leave you to die?” Keith snaps. “Shiro, you were – there was blood everywhere, I thought –” He exhales and looks away, leaning back against the headboard. “I barely even remember stitching you up. I think I shouted at the innkeep to find me a needle and thread. Might have actually threatened him. He was terrified of me for the rest of our stay at that place.”</p>
<p>Shiro manages a weak smile. “Hm, yes, that does sound like you.”</p>
<p>Keith snorts and rubs his temples, sneaking a glance at Shiro. “Listen, I just...I’m glad you’re not dead. I realize I was...unfair to you, last we spoke. Acxa has talked to me more about...what is considered proper for people in our position. I did not intend to – to force you to share my bed.” </p>
<p>“You didn’t –”</p>
<p>“Let me finish. Please.” It looks as if it pains Keith to even say it, and his scent’s sweetness is waning into stale, uncertain echoes. “And – I realize maybe you feel that I’ve invaded your bed now.” His shoulders slump. “I will leave if you wish, now. But it felt – wrong for you to be alone, when you were healing, when I had felt your heartbeat so close to stopping. I don’t mean anything untoward by it, Shiro.” He sounds nervous and painfully earnest, and Shiro’s aforementioned heart stutters. “I just wanted to do whatever I could to help, and Kolivan said my scent and – and my purr might soothe you, so. I had to try. But if you are angry at me for that, I understand, and I am sorry, and I will never do it again –”</p>
<p>“I’m not angry at you,” Shiro says at once, blinking at him.</p>
<p>Keith pauses and peers down at him, relief washing over his features. “...No?”</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro agrees, “but...I do not think it should happen again.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Keith nods, throat bobbing with a quick swallow. “Yes. Of course. I understand.” He chews his lip. “And I apologize for saying you were my husband.”</p>
<p>They <em>cannot</em> be having this conversation while still in bed together. Shiro prays for the mattress to mercifully consume him. “It’s fine,” Shiro ekes out. “I forgive you.”</p>
<p>Keith doesn’t meet his eye. “I make you uncomfortable,” he says quietly, “don’t I?”</p>
<p>“That’s not –” Shiro starts, and then hesitates. “You don’t. I just –” He sighs. “I’m not sure what exactly you want from me, Keith.”</p>
<p>In a very small voice, Keith says, “I think – I just want you to be my friend. Is that – can we be friends? Is that improper?”</p>
<p><em>Is Lord Lotor your friend, too?</em> Shiro wants to ask, but holds his tongue. “Friends,” he repeats.</p>
<p>“I know what task my father charged you with,” Keith mutters, “but Shiro, my father is dead, and if you being my guardian means that you will be put in harm’s way, then I would have you fill the role of companion first and foremost. If you are not my friend, then you are my ally, at least.”</p>
<p>“That implies trust,” Shiro says. “You trust me?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith says without hesitation, so quickly that Shiro has to stop himself from shifting closer. </p>
<p>Shiro draws in a breath. “Keith...I am flattered, but I assure you, I am capable of protecting you as your father charged me to –”</p>
<p>Keith rolls his eyes and out of bed, shaking his head. “Did you ever once hear me question your capability? I didn’t. I’m sure you’re capable, Shiro, and you have clearly proved that. But I don’t need you to die on me, alright?” His voice trembles a little. “I – I need you here, with me. Alive and in one piece.”</p>
<p>“Well...” Shiro starts, and lifts his right hand. “That may be a slight problem.”</p>
<p>Keith splutters at him. “You know what I mean!”</p>
<p>Shiro’s lips quirk. He gazes up at Keith. The omega stands beside his bed, arms folded. It’s a small mercy that he’s fully clothed, meaning that he’s naked by any normal standards, but Shiro has grown frighteningly used to Keith in his leggings and flowing blouses with their cinched-tight wrists and collars. </p>
<p>“Friends,” Shiro repeats. “Alright. If you’re sure.”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure about any of this!” Keith exclaims, flailing his arms elegantly. “You’re the one who’s been – out in the world, probably have actual friendships, probably have some inkling as to how this works – better than me, anyway.”</p>
<p>“Most friends don’t quite get to the life debts part,” Shiro points out, “so...that’s something.”</p>
<p>“That is something,” Keith agrees. “Most friends probably have not seen each other’s abdominal walls, either, unless I am very mistaken.”</p>
<p>“My – you saw my <em>what?” </em>Shiro exclaims. </p>
<p>“Don’t worry,” Keith says. “I will never see it again unless you get stabbed again, and <em>you will not get stabbed again.”</em></p>
<p>“Yes, noted,” Shiro manages, barely managing to not shiver at the firm note in Keith’s voice.</p>
<p>“So we are friends,” Keith declares. He smiles. It’s disarming, as it always is. “Good.”</p>
<p>“Good,” Shiro repeats, faintly. “Yes. Friends.”</p>
<p>“Rest, Shiro,” Keith murmurs, stepping away from the bed. “Let yourself heal. I’ll be here...should you need me.”</p>
<p>As Shiro drifts off, it occurs to him that he has never allowed himself to consider the possibility that he may, in fact, need Keith even more than Keith needs him.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The snows come, and they do not stop.</p>
<p>Shiro is more or less bed-bound for two more weeks, during which Keith visits him with tea and stories, with one forbidden topic – that of Lord Lotor. The weather is too poor for them to meet in person, but that has not dissuaded Lotor from sending letters. Shiro pities the unfortunate sods who have to play messenger for the two lovebirds...no, he cannot think of them as lovebirds, or he will probably split his sutures. </p>
<p>In the brief conversation they did have about Lotor, Keith has always seemed...not indifferent, but not particularly enamored, either. It’s more like he’s entertained by the lordly alpha, and Shiro tells himself that’s far better than simple infatuation, but it’s also worse, because it means that Lotor is good at being entertaining. Keith writes him letters back, as far as Shiro knows, but Shiro can only guess as to the content of those letters...and he does not like to fill in the blanks.</p>
<p>A saving grace is that, despite Shiro’s weak protests, Keith helps him leave his bed to walk – carefully – around the manor house, up and down the drafty halls, settling always before the great fire in the sitting room. They drink tea and sometimes hot cocoa there, and in the firelight, it is all too easy to pretend that Lotor does not exist.</p>
<p>But one cannot live off of tea and cocoa, so Antok and Kolivan bring him his meals. This strikes Shiro as strange, until Kolivan coolly informs Shiro that Keith has ordered them to sample Shiro’s meals for poison beforehand, or else personally supervise the process. The manor staff is quite small, but Shiro supposes one can never be too careful. Yet...it’s still strange that they do it, seemingly without question.</p>
<p>“You follow Keith’s orders?” Shiro asks them when they tell him of this. “Are you family friends, or hired servants?”</p>
<p>Kolivan’s expression becomes somehow even more dismissive. “Of course we follow his orders,” Kolivan retorts. “Do you not?”</p>
<p>“Well, he pays me,” Shiro starts uncertainly, “so...I suppose I do, within reason, but –”</p>
<p>Antok growls. His expression has barely changed in all the time Shiro has seen him, but now his lip curls. “Are the alphas in this land without loyalty?” he mutters to Kolivan.</p>
<p>Shiro blinks. “I don’t know what that has anything to do with –”</p>
<p>“Silence.” Kolivan holds up a hand. Shiro eyes it, brow still raised, but closes his mouth. “We follow Keith’s orders because he is an omega worthy of…” He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. “Worthy of the blade.”</p>
<p>Shiro squints at him. It takes effort not to bristle and snap when he says, “That had better not be innuendo.”</p>
<p>Kolivan makes a disgusted sound and all but slams the tray of breakfast down onto the bedside table. “How<em> dare </em>you. It is not.” He frowns deeply, and leans in closer, until Shiro is near-overwhelmed by the pungent scent of cloves and cinnamon. “Have you mated him, Shirogane?”</p>
<p>Shiro stares. His mouth has gone completely dry, so it takes a herculean effort to eke out, “Of – of course not, <em>no, </em>why would you – where did you say you two were from, again?”</p>
<p>“We did not say,” Antok retorts.</p>
<p>“You speak of mating him with repulsion,” Kolivan notes, eyes narrowed. “You disrespect him.”</p>
<p>“Can we stop discussing – <em>mating – Keith –</em> as casually as if it were the <em>weather?” </em>Shiro hisses.</p>
<p>Kolivan sniffs. “Yet you are <em>not</em> repulsed, <em>are</em> you?”</p>
<p>“I think I would like to eat my breakfast in peace, now,” Shiro says, strangled.</p>
<p>“Hm,” Kolivan says. Antok grunts in kind, and the two leave, and Shiro thinks – hopes – that will be the end of it.</p>
<p>It isn’t.</p>
<p>Not three days later, Kolivan brings him supper, and this time, he’s alone. He closes the door behind him, and locks it. Shiro stiffens, sitting up straight in bed, the book in his lap forgotten. Slowly, he closes it, eyes never leaving Kolivan as the older alpha deposits the tray of food like an afterthought and promptly sits in the chair near his bedside.</p>
<p>“Can I...help you?” Shiro asks.</p>
<p>Kolivan frowns, or maybe he’s been frowning since he entered the room; it’s hard to tell. “The alpha, Lord Lotor. What do you know of him?”</p>
<p>Shiro stiffens so much that his side hurts. “Why do you ask?” </p>
<p>Kolivan’s frown definitely deepens. “Keith has a correspondence with him. They are courting. Yes?”</p>
<p>“Seems that way,” Shiro ventures.</p>
<p>“You disapprove,” Kolivan murmurs, and at this, he looks...interested. “Why?”</p>
<p>Now they’re both frowning. “I don’t trust him,” Shiro admits. Kolivan raises an eyebrow. “He smells foul to me,” Shiro adds, “and I am convinced he doesn’t have Keith’s best intentions in mind.”</p>
<p>“Hm,” Kolivan says. Shiro has found that it’s exceedingly difficult to decipher Kolivan’s various grunts and hums, but he swears this one has a vaguely pleased tone. Finally Kolivan adds, “I have not met him, but I find his words to be clever and his flattery to be...profuse. This concerns me.”</p>
<p>Shiro takes a moment to process this. “You’ve...been reading Lord Lotor’s letters. To Keith.”</p>
<p>Kolivan’s gaze does not falter. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“That’s an invasion of privacy,” Shiro scolds, but his heart isn’t really in it, and Kolivan is unmoved by this moral judgment. He sighs. “Can I ask <em>why?”</em></p>
<p>“I would like to know his intentions, also,” Kolivan says, thoughtful now. “His family – the Sinclairs – they are...strange. Too shadowy for my liking. And his sudden appearance after Mr. Blackwood’s death strikes me as...convenient.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro says, seizing upon the common ground, hardly believing his ally in this might be Kolivan, of all people. “Yes, I thought so too.”</p>
<p>“You say he smells foul to you,” Kolivan muses. “Do I smell the same? Does Antok?”</p>
<p>“No.” Shiro eyes him. “The letters –”</p>
<p>“I will not tell you their contents,” Kolivan interrupts. “That would be an invasion of privacy.” Shiro scowls and Kolivan purses his lips. “But...I can tell you that this Lord Lotor is serious about the courtship. He has mentioned the possibility of engagement...and Keith has neither declined nor accepted.”</p>
<p>“Engagement,” Shiro repeats, stomach turning. </p>
<p>Kolivan tilts his head. “This angers you.”</p>
<p>“Keith deserves better,” Shiro says simply.</p>
<p>“Better.” Kolivan folds his arms. “Like you?”</p>
<p>Shiro looks away. “No. Just – better. Someone more fitting for...for him.”</p>
<p>“Is wealth and status not how you judge the fitness of a mate, here?” Kolivan counters. “Lord Lotor is very wealthy. The Sinclairs are powerful. Their status is high –”</p>
<p>“I know!” Shiro snaps. “I am damn well aware of that, thank you.”</p>
<p>Kolivan’s calm frown remains. “We do not judge the fitness of one’s mate by those factors, where we are from.”</p>
<p>Shiro picks at the blanket. “No? How, then?”</p>
<p>“There is a series of trials,” Kolivan says. “Very difficult. Dangerous, often. But if one is fated to be one’s mate, then they will pass the trials.”</p>
<p>“Physical tests of strength and stamina, then?” Shiro mutters. “How original.”</p>
<p>“The trials are more than that,” Kolivan says. “They are a test of wills. They reveal one’s true self.” His eyes narrow, and he stands. “I would like, very much, to reveal this Lord Lotor’s true self. But such trials do not exist here. A shame.”</p>
<p>He turns to go, and Shiro says, before he can stop himself, “If you ever want to arrange a trial of wills for Lord Lotor, you have my complete support.”</p>
<p>Kolivan doesn’t turn back around fully, but Shiro thinks he can see the hint of a smile. “And who would his opponent be? You?”</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t answer, and Kolivan leaves the question hanging as he leaves the room.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Shiro is well enough to leave his bed and walk around unassisted only a few days after his ominous conversation with Kolivan, and in celebration, Keith insists on throwing a party. </p>
<p>It’s the weirdest party that Shiro has ever been to, not that he’s been to many, but certainly none with a sumptuous feast, fine aged ale, two alphas who barely say a word, a beta who keeps glowering at the alphas and insisting she should not be dining with them, and an omega who seems frankly oblivious to all the looming and glaring going on around him. Probably for the best – Acxa’s stare is downright venomous.</p>
<p>The cook made cake, sponge cake with strawberries, powdered sugar, vanilla glaze, and freshly whipped cream, the two layers sandwiching a thick spread of berry jam. Shiro is bewildered by the presence of berries in the winter, but Keith casually informs him that they get all of their produce from a private greenhouse, which grows plenty of fruits at all times of the year. Shiro still nibbles away at his slice like it’s edible gold, which, figuratively, he suspects it is. </p>
<p>The rest of the feast is equally delicious, and despite the initial awkwardness, the ale softens everyone, even Kolivan, at least a little. They end up in the parlor, and Shiro finds himself on the very same emerald green sofa he had first perched upon when he first arrived at Blackwood Manor. This time, Keith doesn’t stay in his father’s armchair, but joins Shiro on the sofa, and Shiro knows he’s in trouble when Keith gives no mind to his unbuttoned sleeve and slipping collar, his scent spilling into the air – or at least, into all of the air around Shiro. Keith is leaning into him slightly and smiling. </p>
<p>“See?” Keith exclaims. “I told you the ale would help – do you feel helped, Shiro? Isn’t it good?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro says, dazed, flushing hot as Keith leans closer and openly, wantonly inhales. Shiro’s nails dig into the upholstery. “Are you...scenting me?”</p>
<p>Maybe his voice is a bit too loud, because Acxa whirls on her heel in his peripherals, but she isn’t fast enough to stop Keith from mumbling, “Yes – friends can do that, can’t they? I just like it. You’re nice...you smell nice.”</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t say that,” Shiro scolds, but it’s gentle. There’s no weight behind it – there can’t be, not when Keith is so close, his scent an ambrosia to Shiro’s senses, flooding them so completely that any residual ache or pull whatsoever from his wound is instantly forgotten. </p>
<p>Keith looks up at him, mussed hair falling into his face, eyes dark and lips parted. “You confuse me, Shiro,” he murmurs. “But – that’s alright, I think.”</p>
<p>“Sometimes it’s alright to be confused,” Shiro tells him. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Surely, he hasn’t drunk enough ale to be this far gone already.</p>
<p>“Mm,” Keith says. “Sometimes…sometimes.” His eyes are half-lidded now, and his face is very flushed. “Shiro…I’m glad we’re friends, now. I always wanted a friend like you.”</p>
<p><em>He’s too close,</em> Shiro thinks, snapped out of the perfumed haze by the flicker of panic as he grasps a hint of familiarity in the warmth gathering at his core. It’s not the ale. Keith leans forward again, enough that the possibility of him overbalancing into Shiro’s lap is a very real threat, and Shiro reaches out to steady his shoulders, intending to keep him at arms’ length.</p>
<p>It’s a mistake to touch the omega.</p>
<p>As soon as Shiro makes contact, he knows he’s not going to be able to let go. How can he, when Keith’s slim shoulders feel so right in his hands, the supple flex of his upper arm mouthwatering against Shiro’s left palm. Strong, but small enough for Shiro to please him with the difference in their build, small enough that Keith would strain to –</p>
<p>It’s this thought which makes him jerk away in horror as a growl escapes from his throat, past his gritted teeth. Keith has gone still on the sofa, pupils dilated and body stiff as a board when he whispers, “Sh…iro?”</p>
<p>There are bruises, Shiro sees, where his left hand grasped Keith’s shoulder; clearly visible where the fabric slips, no, <em>no,</em> he cannot look, he must – get away from here, now –</p>
<p>An unyielding hand grasps him by the nape of the neck like an unruly pup, and Shiro jolts at the contact, hesitation forgotten as he turns on them with a snarl. They seem surprised by how easily he breaks free of their grasp, and then cloves and cinnamon hits him like a wall and, panting, Shiro recognizes the other alpha as Kolivan. He’s stepped in, not between Keith and Shiro, but to Shiro’s end of the couch, and stands there with his signature frown, unmoved as Shiro bares his teeth.</p>
<p>“It is time to go,” Kolivan says. It isn’t a question. Shiro growls again, wavering, glancing back at Keith, whose expression of shock hasn’t changed. The omega is distressed. Shiro can fix that. Shiro can help – <em>no, no he absolutely cannot, he should not, he should leave at once.</em></p>
<p>Shiro looks around the room. Antok is holding back Kosmo, who has since awoken and is staring at Shiro, hackles raised. Acxa has her hand on the ham’s carving knife. Kolivan waits with startling patience.</p>
<p>Shiro gives Kolivan a halting nod, and without a word the other alpha takes him by the shoulder and steers him away from the sofa, away from Keith. Shiro has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from growling or making an even more embarrassing sound as they leave the parlor and start up the stairs. By the landing, he’s panting, sagging against the bannister. He thinks he can hear Keith’s voice, smell him still, but that’s impossible.</p>
<p>Kolivan rumbles beside him. It’s a sound he’s never heard the other alpha make, and Shiro looks up at him blearily. “You must get to your room,” Kolivan says. It isn’t an order, now…it’s more like a reminder, and a much-needed one, at that. “I will make sure it is locked. You do not need to worry.”</p>
<p>“Keith won’t be safe,” Shiro gasps, squeezing his eyes shut, clinging to the remaining moments of painful clarity. “I should – leave this place, go elsewhere –”</p>
<p>Kolivan looks…sad. “You truly think you are a danger to him, just because you are in rut.” Shiro doesn’t justify that with an answer. Kolivan swears softly. “Oh, how I hate this land and its stupid beliefs.” He has to half-drag Shiro up the rest of the stairs, for Shiro’s body has decided that going back downstairs to the sweet, strong little omega is preferable, and his roaring hindbrain is both baffled and threatened by the alpha that seems intent on bringing him elsewhere.</p>
<p>Mouth full of blood from his own bitten tongue, Shiro half-spits, “I don’t want – to hurt him – lock me in the cellar, or –”</p>
<p>“Ridiculous!” Kolivan snarls, and then they’re staggering down a hallway, and Shiro is fighting him every step of the way before he’s hurled into a room, and drags Kolivan with him, vision darkening at the edges, narrowing to simpler shades. Shiro manages to pin Kolivan against the door, growling and confused but feeling he’s won – something. Somehow.</p>
<p>“The cellar,” Shiro repeats, the words thick and clumsy in his mouth, but he knows they’re important. “Lock me down there.”</p>
<p>“It’s freezing,” Kolivan says flatly, not shoving back against him, just staring down at him with unreadable hazel eyes. “I will not.”</p>
<p>“If I get out of this room –”</p>
<p>“You will not,” Kolivan mutters. “But if you did – Keith would not be in danger.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know –”</p>
<p>“Of course <em>I know,”</em> Kolivan growls, and this time he does shove against him, sending Shiro staggering back a half-step. “We aren’t mindless beasts, Shirogane. If this society taught you that, then it’s a foolish one. Tell me: if you did get free, and found Keith, what would you do?”</p>
<p>Shiro shakes his head violently. “I can’t – I cannot say.”</p>
<p>Kolivan scoffs. “No. You don’t even trust yourself. You’ve deluded yourself into thinking you’d hurt him, take him against his will –”</p>
<p>Shiro manages to stumble his way back to the edge of his bed and sits down heavily, covering his face. “Don’t – I don’t want to do that –”</p>
<p>“Then don’t!” Kolivan snaps. “These cycles are natural, so treat them as such. You think they take away all sense of self and reason? No. They just magnify what is already there. You aren’t an alpha who would take an unwilling partner.”</p>
<p>“How do you know that,” Shiro manages, shuddering as he begins to sweat and feels the ache of his gums as his teeth begin to slowly change and sharpen into proper canines.</p>
<p>Kolivan eyes him. “My instinct is usually a good judge of character. Right now, it is saying that I should leave before you decide I am trespassing and attack me.”</p>
<p>Shiro lets out a ragged laugh. “Thought you just said I wasn’t dangerous.”</p>
<p>“No – I said you weren’t a <em>mindless</em> beast,” Kolivan retorts, “and that is true. Beasts <em>with </em>minds are far more dangerous. I will send Acxa to bring sustenance later. You will need it.”</p>
<p>He leaves just in time. A second before the door closes, Shiro smells cinnamon and cloves, and lunges for Kolivan just as the door clicks shut, only registering that the scent is too strong, unwanted and stinging at his eyes and throat, so different from the honeyed nectar he longs for.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Shiro has never liked ruts – probably not a very unique complaint – but this one is particularly unbearable.</p>
<p>He swears he can smell Keith everywhere, though this makes no sense, and he must be hallucinating it, and this frightens him because he’s never hallucinated scents before, in a rut or otherwise, except perhaps for Lord Lotor, and <em>no, damn it all, </em>he cannot think of <em>him</em> right now or he’s going to break something. He does break many things, anyway. His room looks like it’s been struck by a hurricane by day two, and by day three the sheets cannot be saved; Shiro is convinced.</p>
<p>He spends much of the first day trying to break down the door, broken up by interludes of uncertainty in which he slowly sheds his clothes and paces the length of the room in only his undergarments, muttering to himself all of the reasons for why he cannot leave this room, and why the door must stay locked. Shiro would like to think this is effective, because even when he finds himself renewing his efforts, convinced that he’s being imprisoned here and that he’s going to die if he doesn’t get out, his fists are halfhearted against the creaking wood.</p>
<p>He can also smell the other alpha nearby, the cloves and cinnamon a threat when he gets too close to the door, and that scent deters him if only because it’s unpleasant; too much for his senses, now all on high alert. Once or twice, he thinks he hears a wolf howl, and tosses that into the pot with the rest of his apparent hallucinations before he remembers that Kosmo exists, again. His thoughts drift about like leaves in the wind, not lost but distant, unmoored, secondary to the wind itself, which now consumes him with its hunger.</p>
<p>Shiro manages to avoid touching himself until the second day – or rather, the first night, but he doesn’t know if rubbing off against a pillow in his feverish half-sleep a dozen times until deeper slumber finds him really counts. He wakes exhausted and more aroused than before, and muffles his sounds in his pillows, ashamed by each and every one of them, actually shouting when his fist closes around the base of his swelling cock.</p>
<p>Every stolen touch makes him feel like the filthy, debased creature he is, reduced to helpless instinct and a drive that overtakes every other. His fangs draw blood as he bites down on the meat of his own left arm, coming in sticky splatters over his new right hand. He will have to clean that, he thinks faintly, and then immediately forgets as his cock pulses again, his metal and wood fingers rubbing too tightly against his rounding knot. He imagines his fist is a tight hole, and it isn’t enough, it cannot be, but his cock twitches and his eyes roll back and he finds he cannot seem to stop trying to make it be enough.</p>
<p>And it all fades into this for what feels like a long time.</p>
<p>He must have fallen asleep at some point, or perhaps lapsed into unconsciousness, because when he awaits it’s abruptly, to the scent of food on the bedside table and the sound of a key turning in the lock. He thinks to run to the door, but pauses before actually doing so, reminding himself with the bewildered but cowed assurance of a conditioned dog that the door is forbidden to him, right now. </p>
<p>Besides, the food smells good – a rich meat stew, he thinks, with vegetables and thick bread, and Shiro doesn’t know why <em>bread</em> of all things provokes such a reaction, but he’s unable to finish his meal before he's ready to go again, and makes an even bigger mess of the sheets, yet is pleased to find more in a pile near the door.</p>
<p>He scents all of the sheets, searches with increasing desperation for the smallest sliver of Keith’s scent, but there’s nothing. Shiro makes like the possibly hallucinated wolf and howls the loss to the world, but it’s for naught – no one answers his call, and why would they? He is alone; he knows this acutely, for if he had someone, if anyone was receptive to him, they would have come to him by now.</p>
<p>But there is no one. Shiro ends up stripping the old sheets away in disgust and does not even bother to put the new ones on, just heaps them in a pathetic excuse for a nest on the mattress and burrows into them, whimpering when the only scent he can ever find is his own. When he awakes hours, or maybe days, later, the sheets are damp under his cheek, and there’s a lump in his throat, and he’s hard again.</p>
<p>At some point, he awakes blearily in the middle of the night – it’s still snowing outside, enough to obscure the dark world in a white shroud, and the falling snow muffles every sound, the wind outside rushing in a dull roar. Shiro at first thinks that the cry that woke him came from out there, and stares out the dark window, eyes wide, listening for another. But when it does come, it’s from inside the house, just down the hall, and it’s an omega, it’s his omega. </p>
<p>Shiro hurries to the door, tugging uselessly on the knob. It’s locked, as he knew it would be, but he had to try. Keith cries out again, and he sounds so frightened, and Shiro growls furiously, frantic to get to him, to comfort him, to protect him from what his hindbrain screams must be a deadly predator but which Shiro knows is more likely a nightmare. </p>
<p>Shiro can do nothing but keen back to him, as loud as he can, pouring every bit of his affection and urgency into the sound. It echoes through the house, far louder than Keith’s cries, and Shiro listens for a long time afterwards, but only silence follows. He keens softer, uncertain, ear pressed to the door, but again, nothing. That’s a disappointment, but at least Keith isn’t crying out anymore. Reluctantly, Shiro returns to bed, and to the blur that his life has become, lately.</p>
<p>The blur is broken only once afterwards by a single, miraculous moment. There’s a voice at the door. Shiro doesn’t know what day it is, but he knows that it’s night, judging by the darkened window, and he knows he’s exhausted, so it must have been towards the end – if there is an end to this.</p>
<p>The voice is soft and hesitant. “Shiro?” they whisper, and Shiro’s head shoots up from his mess of a nest. “Are…are you in there?”</p>
<p>Shiro is pressed to the door in seconds, because he <em>knows</em> that voice, that scent. It’s Keith. The omega. The pretty, perfect omega who smells like summertime, who smells better than anything else in this world or the next –</p>
<p>But all he manages to say is, in a low, frantic groan, <em>“Keith.”</em></p>
<p>There’s a hitched breath. “Yes. It’s me. You – sound like you’re in pain.”</p>
<p>Keith is so close. Only a single sheet of this stupid, damned wood lies between them now. Shiro could break it. He’s sure he could.</p>
<p>Shiro squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to breathe, to think. Breathing in more of that scent makes it even harder to form thoughts, though. “I need –” He whines. “Your scent –”</p>
<p>“My scent?” Keith whispers. “Does – does it help?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro gasps, “please – <em>please,</em> omega, help me –”</p>
<p>“Shiro,” Keith whispers, “I — I can’t.”</p>
<p>The rejection stings more than Shiro expected. His head droops and his entire body slumps limp and defeated against the door. “Keith,” he says, low and mournful. “Don’t — don’t leave…” It’s such a pathetic plea, but he has no pride left. All that matters is that he isn’t good enough — and he wants to be, wants more than anything to find some way to prove his worth, but he can’t, because Keith is on the other side of that door, so Shiro can’t court him, can’t make him a proper nest, can’t pleasure him and worship him and show him that he can be what Keith needs.</p>
<p><em>But even if there was no door, you can’t, you know you can’t, </em>a little voice whispers to him, and this distresses him even further. <em>He’ll never accept you. Not like that. Not as a mate.</em></p>
<p>Shiro can’t hold back his whimper.</p>
<p>Keith is still there. “Oh, Shiro,” he whispers. “You — oh, <em>fuck. Fine.”</em> There are some rustling sounds and Shiro perks up, tilting his head in curiosity and frustration at not being able to see what’s going on. When Keith speaks again, he sounds nervous, pleading. “Don’t — don’t hate me for this when you’re...yourself again, alright? I know you don’t…” Keith trails off and clears his throat. “Actually want me like that. But you’re my friend. And — I said I didn’t want you hurting anymore. So.” And he slides something under the door.</p>
<p>It’s a handkerchief embroidered with Keith’s initials in red, but Shiro barely notices that because it smells like Keith. He’s moaning in relief as soon as the cloth touches his face. Shiro pants, gulping in lungfuls of the scent he’s been imagining for so long, utterly overcome by it. He doesn’t mean to, but he shoves against the door, the whole thing rattling – he wants to thank Keith, wants to prove he can be trusted with far more than a handkerchief – but instead he hears the omega yelp and then there’s the quick patter of fleeing footsteps down the hall.</p>
<p>Shiro shoulders slump, and he noses into the handkerchief, holding it like the precious gift it is. He doesn’t take the handkerchief away from his face for the rest of the day, and keeps it as clean as possible, not wanting to smother the omega’s scent with his own. He falls asleep with it crumpled in his fist, tucked up against his nose, and he awakens with a jolt as he feels someone trying to pry it away from him.</p>
<p>It’s the beta, Acxa, and there’s a moment where they just stare at each other. Then Shiro snarls, recognizing only her attempt to take the omega’s scent from him, and she stumbles back as he surges up and lunges for her. He strikes her throat hard with his fist and she falls, gasping, as Shiro curls back up on the bed with the handkerchief securely cradled to his chest. “Get out,” Shiro warns, and she holds her bruised neck as she does so, the door slamming behind her, the lock once again turning. </p>
<p>Shiro watches the door with narrowed eyes. He hears voices on the other side, smells the mild peppermint of Acxa’s scent along with the cloves and cinnamon, and growls in loud warning at their proximity. </p>
<p>“You should not have tried to take it from him,” the other low, alpha voice mutters.</p>
<p>“Keith should not have given it to him!” Acxa snaps. </p>
<p>“But he did.”</p>
<p>“It is wrong of him to have done so, and wrong for Shiro to have accepted it –”</p>
<p>“Yet you would not protest if Lord Lotor had given Keith such a gift.”</p>
<p>Shiro growls louder at the unwanted name, and both of the others pause. Their footsteps fade, as do their scents, and Shiro is once more left alone. </p>
<p>He hardly dares to sleep, for fear that they will try to take Keith’s gift from him again, and he guards the room relentlessly, head turning at every small sound, at every passing scent. He fucks into his own hand in between breathing in the soft, sweet cloth, and in the few blissful moments after climax – before the next wave of lust hits him – he remembers that Keith called them friends. Is Keith his friend? His chest fills with proud, hopeful warmth at the thought. </p>
<p>If Keith is his friend, then perhaps there’s a chance after all for him to court the omega and show Keith how much he means to him. If Keith is his friend, then maybe, just maybe, he may someday find Shiro appealing as more than just a friend. It seems significant to him that an omega would trust an alpha to be their friend. Does Keith trust him? Shiro hopes so, with all his heart. He will be worthy of Keith’s trust and attention; he will find a way!</p>
<p>Of course, these thoughts are more or less forgotten mere moments later as Shiro is overtaken by arousal again, and this time the wave goes on and on, until his wrist is sore and his pillows are filthy and Shiro passes out, naked and sweating, facedown in his nest. </p>
<p>He awakes exhausted and horribly, finally, fully lucid. </p>
<p>Shiro takes a second to sit up, rub his face, and groan. Then he notices the handkerchief, still trapped in his tight fist, and sucks in a panicked breath, letting go of it at once. It flutters down to rest on the wrecked blankets, and Shiro panics again, snatching it back up and placing it with care on the bedside table instead. </p>
<p>He takes a moment to take stock of himself and the situation. It could be worse, he muses. Not much worse, but at least the door remains unbroken. Tentatively, he sniffs the air, ignoring his own overpowering miasma of musk and rut pheromones. There are cloves nearby, lingering, and he wraps one of the least ruined blankets around himself before shuffling over to the door and knocking on it. “Hello?” he calls. “Er...Kolivan?”</p>
<p>For a while, there’s silence, and then Shiro becomes aware of a presence on the other side of the door. “Are you awake?” Kolivan asks.</p>
<p>Shiro clears his throat. “Yes...it’s passed, I think.”</p>
<p>“You smell,” Kolivan informs him, and the key turns in the lock slowly, the door opening even slower. A wary hazel eye peers through the crack, and the other alpha’s nose wrinkles. </p>
<p>“I know,” Shiro sighs. “I...need a bath.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Kolivan mutters. “You do. Follow me. I have one readied in my room.”</p>
<p>Shiro blinks. “You do?”</p>
<p>He shrugs. “You’ve been quiet for some time, and it’s been six days. I guessed your rut would be ending soon and I was correct. Now, follow.”</p>
<p>Shiro hesitates on the threshold, pulling the blanket closer. “I don’t want to accidentally run into Keith. Maybe I should just wash here…”</p>
<p>“Keith has locked himself in his own rooms for the last three days,” Kolivan retorts. “He is still there. You will not encounter him.”</p>
<p>Kolivan starts leaving, and Shiro follows with difficulty, remembering how his legs work as he trails after the other alpha. “He locked himself in? Is he well? Is something wrong?”</p>
<p>“There has been a snowstorm outside for the last week,” Kolivan says dryly, “and he has therefore been stuck in his own home with an alpha in rut just a few rooms away. I believe he felt it was the only place he could go.”</p>
<p>Guilt pangs through Shiro, and he swallows. “He was afraid of me?” he whispers.</p>
<p>Kolivan looks at him without pity. “He requested cotton to shove in his ears, and he has had incense burning for the entire week,” the older alpha retorts. “You were not quiet, and you reek.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Shiro winces, but he supposes being annoyed is better than cowering in terror. “I...see.”</p>
<p>“Walk faster,” Kolivan grumbles.</p>
<p>Shiro does, resolutely not looking at Keith’s door as they pass.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Bathing in Kolivan’s chambers is as supremely awkward as he expected it would be. Though the other alpha ignores him the entire time, he doesn’t leave, and Shiro is at one point absolutely certain that Kolivan is staring at his dick in a calculating sort of way, and he absolutely doesn’t know how to feel about that except perhaps vaguely threatened. </p>
<p>But it is a relief to be clean, and wearing real clothes again feels strange after so long bare, yet also reassuring – all can be normal again, and Shiro can forget that the last week happened. </p>
<p>Then he walks downstairs with Kolivan and sees, through the open door down the wide hall, Keith sitting in the parlor. Shiro tries to alter his route, but it’s too late – Keith looks up, and their eyes meet. Keith’s eyes widen, and it’s impossible to miss the reddening of the omega’s face even from this distance. </p>
<p>Kolivan rolls his eyes. “Your skills of avoidance are shit, Shirogane.”</p>
<p>Shiro ignores him and is about to hurry away to hide in the kitchen, but then an unfamiliar voice floats down the hall, followed by an equally unfamiliar scent – another alpha, the strong and warm fragrance of vanilla bean and cocoa, overlaid by rich caramel toffee and the distinctive smell of toasted almonds. </p>
<p>“Hello? Oh, Keith, you didn’t tell me you had more friends staying with you! Please, come join us for tea, there are plenty of scones left.”</p>
<p>The voice is friendly and feminine, and Shiro bristles at it, then shakes himself, the lingering instincts troubling and difficult to forget. He looks helplessly to Kolivan, only to find that Kolivan has disappeared, the bastard. Shiro lifts his chin, takes a deep breath – but not too deep, or he might smell Keith, and he does not yet feel stable enough to do that – and starts towards the parlor. </p>
<p>When he enters it, he finds before him an odd scene, to say the least. Keith sits in his father’s armchair, avoiding eye contact. Kosmo sits at a distance, in front of the window, peering at the stranger warily but without aggression. Acxa stands stiffly beside the door. </p>
<p>And the guest – she sits on the emerald green sofa in waves of elegantly embroidered skirts, all varying shades of blue and frothing with delicate lace, the color striking against her dark, glowing skin. The lace continues up her chest and throat, her collar closed by a fine sapphire brooch, and her gloved hands rest neatly in her lap. Almost more impressive than her dress, however, is her hair, a bright and distinguished silver, piled high in a bun with her thick curls cascading from it over her back, the bun affixed with a glittering hairpin adorned with an immense black velvet bow. </p>
<p>She smiles at Shiro as he enters, her eyes as bright and arresting as her dress and hair. “And who might you be?” she inquires. </p>
<p>Shiro glances from her to Keith, who is studiously staring at the papers piled in his lap. He looks back at her and inclines his head. “Takashi Shirogane. I – serve Mr. Blackwood.”</p>
<p>Keith stiffens, shoulders tightening visibly. </p>
<p>The mysterious woman raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I see – you were the one whom the late Mr. Blackwood sent the letter to?” Keith’s head jerks up and Shiro blinks. “No need to look so surprised; I’m dear friends with Mr. Coran, the lawyer. He told me all about it. You see, it’s quite important that I keep myself knowledgeable about your family’s affairs. And they have so very many affairs!”</p>
<p>Shiro pauses. “You’re not...are you A?”</p>
<p>Keith does look at him then, with something like betrayal, the furrow of his brows and set of his jaw clearly demanding, <em>You knew about this?</em></p>
<p>The alpha woman sits back primly against the sofa and inclines her head with a bob of her many curls. “Allura d’Chevalier, to be exact. What did our friend Mr. Blackwood tell you about me, Mr. Shirogane?”</p>
<p>Keith is now staring intently. Shiro swallows. “Not much. Just that you...would explain more about the, ah, the fortune...and the danger associated with it…” His gaze darts to Acxa, whose glare has softened into definite interest. She scowls again when he looks at her. </p>
<p>Allura follows his gaze, and makes a thoughtful sound, standing at once and brushing off her skirts in a gesture that suggests she means business. “Well, then! Keith, Mr. Shirogane, I believe we have far more to discuss, elsewhere. Thank you for the tea, Acxa – it was wonderful.” With that, she crooks her finger and Keith and Shiro, and as easy as that, leads them out of the parlor and up the stairs. She doesn’t hesitate – she’s been here before.</p>
<p>“You were a friend of my father’s, you said,” Keith says, struggling to keep up with her long, purposeful strides, “but lots of people are claiming to be friends of my father’s lately, so –<em> will you stop walking so fast and tell me where you are going and why you are here!” </em>As he says this, he manages to step out in front of her, blocking her path. His brow is knit with frustration and his eyes shine dark and insistent. “I don’t care how close a friend you were to my father. This is my house now, and I will have you state your business before you march into it!”</p>
<p>Allura falters, taken aback as she peers down at him. Then she sighs, and nods. “Of course. I apologize – this is just...quite an urgent matter. Your father should have told you many things, but did not have a chance to do so, and it has left behind a fair bit of disarray.” She lowers her voice. “If you please, we should go to your father’s office. I have some documents with me – the papers I gave you, and others besides – but there are more in his safe.”</p>
<p>“His safe,” Keith repeats. “My father doesn’t have a safe.”</p>
<p>“He most certainly does. Oh, dear, he didn’t even tell you about the safe? That man…” She clicks her tongue. “Quite the paranoid one, but then again, I can hardly blame him! It’s best we have privacy for our conversation, Keith – and while opening the safe that does, indeed, exist.” She waves a hand at Shiro. “Mr. Blackwood trusted you, evidently, but Keith, if you would rather you and I converse alone –”</p>
<p>“No.” Keith half-snaps it, and he still doesn’t look at Shiro when he says it. “Shiro will – join us.”</p>
<p>“...excellent,” Allura murmurs, her eyebrows lifting higher. “So – to the study we go!”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>A thin layer of dust has settled over everything in Mr. Blackwood’s study. It is a great, dark room, the walls made of wooden paneling that reflects hardly any light, and upon them are mounted many more trophies and artifacts of the like in the parlor. From his adventuring days, Shiro supposes. </p>
<p>His desk is even larger than Keith’s, or maybe it just looks that way because it is completely bare. There is not a single scrap of paper on it. On the windowsill is an orchid that looks remarkably only half-dead. The room is lined with bookshelves, each twice as tall as Shiro, and they are filled to bursting with books. </p>
<p>The other decor is sparse – a rug on the floor, a chair beside the window, and a single portrait in a gilded frame on the far wall. It’s in oils, and unmistakably features Mr. Blackwood and Keith, though they both look far younger. If Shiro had to guess, he would say Keith was perhaps ten, his dark eyes wide and huge in his pale, unsmiling face.Mr. Blackwood’s face is unscarred and clean-shaven, his hand resting on Keith’s shoulder, both of them dressed in resplendent finery, though the palette is muted. The brightest thing in it is the ruby at Keith’s throat. </p>
<p>Keith does not spare a glance for the portrait. He spares a glance for very few things in the room, actually, and stands with his arms crossed as the door thuds shut behind them. Shiro cannot remember him ever looking so uncomfortable, not even in the art gallery. “My father was away at war; he had not used this room for months even before…” He clears his throat. “Where is this safe?”</p>
<p>Allura gives him an apologetic smile. “Before we get to that...when I first arrived, I had mentioned to you that I was here on behalf of the bank. This is true, in a loose sense – my family’s business is more closely related to...private financial management, shall we say. And your father, Keith, had many finances to manage. So many, in fact, that he hired us to help him. Those papers I gave you were for one account, Keith. He has seven.”</p>
<p>Keith takes another look at the papers he’s holding, and whatever he sees, it makes him go very quiet. He slowly looks back up at her. “Seven,” he repeats. “Seven – of these.”</p>
<p>“Seven bank accounts, yes,” Allura says brightly, “and of course, there are differing amounts in each, but the one you’re holding there – for the one in London – is on the lower end of that range. The one in Switzerland is the largest, I believe double that amount there, and the one in France is also significant – not much in the one in Denmark, but still a significant sum –”</p>
<p>Keith crosses the room and sits down at his father’s desk, throwing the papers down before him, staring at them again in disbelief, and promptly burying his head in his hands, fingers sinking into his hair. “Seven,” he repeats. “And you’re telling me that <em>five thousand pounds</em> is the smallest amount of money in these accounts?”</p>
<p>“Five thousand pounds,” Shiro repeats, numb. How much money<em> is</em> that? He can’t even imagine it. It sounds like the wages of a damn king.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Allura says, shuffling through her own papers and hesitantly handing over several more to Keith. “See, here is the account in Geneva –”</p>
<p>Keith takes one look at it, blanches, and slams it back down onto the desk with enough force that dust billows up from it. “No,” he whispers, “there must be some mistake. My father was wealthy, but this…”</p>
<p>“There’s been no mistake, Keith,” Allura says gently. “My family and I are meticulous accountants, and your father was our most important client. And now, it seems...you are.”</p>
<p>Keith leans back heavily in the chair. <em>“How,”</em> he says, or rather demands.</p>
<p>She frowns. “I’m sorry? I’m afraid I don’t –”</p>
<p>“How is this possible,” Keith whispers desperately. “How can my father have left me – bloody <em>millions, </em>and I didn’t – I didn’t even know what his business was? How did he make this money? What – what has my father <em>done?” </em>His hands tremble, and he grips the edge of the table, hard.</p>
<p>Allura sucks in a breath. “Ah. I see. A good question...and one, I am afraid, I cannot exactly answer.”</p>
<p>“Then tell me what you can – he must have done something wicked,” Keith whispers, shaking his head as he sifts through the papers again, his disbelief never waning. “Nobody – nobody gets this wealthy this fast through decent means. It’s not possible.”</p>
<p>“Keith, your father was a good man,” Allura starts.</p>
<p>Keith doesn’t let her finish. He stands, hands curled into fists on the desk. “I thought so, too,” he retorts, “but now I think maybe – maybe I didn’t know him very well at all.” His voice breaks when he says this and he steps away from the desk, stalking to the window and turning away from them, covering his mouth with one dusty hand.</p>
<p>Allura bites her lip and leans over to Shiro. “Perhaps you ought to talk to him,” she murmurs.</p>
<p>Shiro thinks this is a terrible idea, but it’s the only one they’ve got, so he cautiously approaches the tense omega, hardly daring to look at him when he finally stops beside him. He struggles to think of something to say, anything, but Keith beats him to it. </p>
<p>“Have you lied to me, too?” Keith mutters. “Did you really meet my father in the war, or have you known him all along – or perhaps you never knew him at all, and this is all some – some elaborate ruse to access the fortune…” He swallows, gaze lowering from the window to the sill. “Is it, Shiro? Tell me.”</p>
<p>“No, it isn’t,” Shiro assures him, alarmed by the hysteria rising in his voice and the anxiety leaden in every word. “Keith, I swear it, I know nothing of this. I only know of ‘A’ from another letter your father sent me – my mother gave it to me when I returned home, for it arrived late. I brought it back; I can show it to you later, if you like, but I promise you it’s the truth.”</p>
<p>Keith closes his eyes briefly, and exhales. “It scares me how easy it is to believe you,” he whispers. “Yes. I will read that letter, later. For now…” He turns, walking back to the desk and leaving Shiro wavering by the window. “Shiro said that you were meant to tell me not just about the fortune, but about the danger associated with it. So tell me.”</p>
<p>“Right...yes, there is that,” Allura admits. “But I confess I don’t entirely understand what your father told me – his information and instructions were quite cryptic. However, I gave my word that I would deliver them to you, and perhaps you will glean some meaning from them! I do hope I haven’t kept this message in our most secure safe for months, all for naught.” </p>
<p>She reaches into her dress pocket – she has many of them, all hidden in the prodigious ruffles – and pulls out a small note. She clears her throat. <em>“My son must know that our family and our fortune is hunted. I do not know their name, only the symbol they bear – my son will recognize it from his childhood. They will not hesitate to kill or otherwise remove those who stand in their way. My son is their target. As long as he is alone, he is vulnerable. Tell him to wed, with haste – and for his fiance to be one capable of defending themselves. It is a terrible thing to ask of him. He may well hate me for it. But it is the only thing that can be done, as long as these shadows pursue us. Better that the family name is safeguarded sooner rather than later. There must be heirs other than my son, born to my son, legitimately, or he will be forever under threat –”</em></p>
<p>“Stop,” Keith whispers, quiet but not soft, his voice rough as he says it, hands fists at his sides. “That’s enough.”</p>
<p>Allura flips the paper over. “There’s not much more,” she murmurs. “He seemed very worried about you...but this bit may interest you.” She reads, <em>“The answers you seek are in my study, hidden in plain sight.”</em> Allura pauses, and holds the paper out to Keith. “And then there’s a long string of numbers. Does that mean anything at all to you? I suspected it was a puzzle or code, but not one I know.”</p>
<p>“That's because he created it,” Keith says as he peers at the paper. “It’s a cipher. Our cipher.” He opens one of the desk drawers, rummaging around until he finds a fountain pen and a piece of paper. He leans over the desk, scribbling furiously, glancing at the note as he covers the paper with ink. </p>
<p>“Your father taught you ciphers, as well as sutures?” Shiro ventures.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Keith mutters. “Why would he not teach me ciphers?” He frowns at the paper and steps back. “I solved it, but it makes no sense. ‘Third from floor, peacock, gold leaf.’”</p>
<p>“That’s a peacock,” Shiro says, pointing to the taxidermied peacock standing atop one of the bookshelves. It’s albino, and looks about as excited to be spending eternity gathering dust atop a bookshelf as you would imagine. </p>
<p>“That is a peacock,” Allura confirms, and starts towards the shelf with a gleam in her eye. “Third from floor, you say? Third shelf, I wonder…” She claps her hands, startling them both badly. “Oops. It’s just — look! Gold leaf.” Shiro follows her finger to the book in question, realization sweeping over him as he sees its spine is adorned with gold leaf patterns. </p>
<p>Its title is <em>Eastern Woodlands,</em> but Shiro doubts the contents of the book matter much, especially when Allura tentatively presses the spine down and — the bookshelf clicks. Keith hurries over to her, Shiro close behind, and the three of them stare at the gap behind the bookshelf. Allura looks to Keith, and he reaches out, nudging the shelf. It creaks open further, sliding along the wall to reveal a door that wasn’t there before. </p>
<p>There are stairs leading down to the depth of the cellar, and when nobody moves forward, Shiro lights a candle from the desk and takes the lead, carrying it down into the darkness before him. As the three of them step inside, though, the dark space floods with a bright, silvery-purple light unlike any Shiro has seen before. Keith yelps, Allura almost trips, and Shiro just stares, uncomprehending. There are sconces set into the stone walls, but there is no discernible energy source, no way to explain how the lights sensed their presence. Shiro keeps the candle, not trusting the strange lights even as they flare brighter. </p>
<p>The room the stairs lead to is not terribly large, but it’s not particularly small, either. The size of the room is honestly difficult to gauge, considering that the walls are papered in maps, and a huge table runs along most of the long, far wall, upon which are stacked papers, strange metal statuettes, pens, inkwells, and a very large globe.</p>
<p>Allura walks towards one of the maps, unfazed by this strangeness, simply looking curious as Shiro and Keith gawk at their surroundings in bewilderment. “These maps are interesting,” Allura tells them over her shoulder. “I’ve never seen them before. It would seem your father may have found...uncharted territory.”</p>
<p>Keith and Shiro join her in peering at the nearest map. It’s detailed, an ornate mess of ink lines designating topography – a large mountain range, high elevations, thick forests and thin lines for rivers, with a single large lake. There are labels scrawled here and there, for cities and landmarks, but Shiro doesn’t know the language nor its alphabet. </p>
<p>Allura, however, taps one of the labels and declares, “I believe this is Mongolian. I don’t know much of the language, but...its script is difficult to mistake for any other.”</p>
<p>Shiro, who has been frowning at the map, sees a sudden glint of...something, just behind one of the corners that must have been tacked down at some point, judging by the hole in the vellum, but has since come free. Carefully, he lifts the corner, and finds…</p>
<p>“The safe!” Allura exclaims. “Oh, good work, Mr. Shirogane. Now, if only we had the combination.”</p>
<p>Keith has hurried over to the desk, and doesn’t even seem to hear a word about the safe. Instead, he’s holding what looks to be a picture frame in his hands. Shiro steps towards him, and Keith doesn’t react. His knuckles are ivory as he grips the frame, simple wood, and as Shiro nears him he can see that within it is a photograph. </p>
<p>Mr. Blackwood’s face he recognizes – though here he is even younger than in the painting – and the chubby-cheeked, wide-eyed baby must be Keith. But beside Keith’s father, holding the baby, is a woman. The resemblance is striking.</p>
<p>Shiro sucks in a breath. “Is that…”</p>
<p>“My mother,” Keith whispers. “It’s my mother.” He sets the picture frame back down hastily, turning to the piles of papers. Many of them look like letters, and they are all signed: <em>Krolia.</em></p>
<p>“Her name?” Shiro asks softly, but Keith just shakes his head, visibly overwhelmed. Shiro can’t blame him.</p>
<p>“This globe over here,” Allura remarks, joining them at the table, “I wonder if it shows this place on the maps…?”</p>
<p>Keith tears himself away from the letters, looking glad for the distraction, and peers down at the globe with her. Allura spins it to Asia, and squints at Mongolia, but finds nothing unusual there. “Perhaps there is some other clue we’re missing,” she muses doubtfully.</p>
<p>Keith pauses. “Wait. Shiro, the candle.” Shiro hands it to him, and watches in confusion as Keith brings the flame close to the globe, to central Asia. As they watch, to Shiro’s bewilderment, something on the globe does change. There’s something written there, scrawled in the heart of Mongolia. “Invisible ink,” Keith mutters, “it’s...my father used to write me hidden messages with it.” He clears his throat. “But it just says one word.”</p>
<p>Allura blinks down at it, her brow furrowed in thought, silver curls turned gold in the candlelight. “Marmora,” she says.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>time for FANCY BASTARD MAN LOTOR, ANGST, PETTY DETECTIVE SHIRO, and MYSTERIOUS DESTINIES, not necessarily in that order ;D</p>
<p>thank you all SO MUCH for your support on this story, which is once again a super niche super self-indulgent idea I had late one night - means a lot that y'all are along for the ride with me~</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Marmora, as far as I know, does not exist,” Allura says yet again as the three of them sit in Mr. Blackwood’s office, struggling to make sense of what they’ve just seen. </p>
<p>Or rather, Allura and Shiro sit – Keith paces, pausing once in a while to glare up at the portrait, as if attempting to summon his father from beyond the grave just so he can give him a piece of his mind. As she says this, Keith whirls on his heel, brow low and jaw tight as he retorts, “Yes, well, it seems my father worked hard to make certain the world thought so.” His mouth twists. “And all the while, he was...what, extracting its wealth for his own gain?”</p>
<p>“That seems very unlike your father,” Allura offers, but she, too, sounds unsure. “He was fond of adventure, it’s true, but he spoke often of pursuits of invasion and conquest and violence with the utmost disgust – and your father never struck me as a hypocrite.”</p>
<p>“But he committed acts of violence in the war, did he not?” Keith demands, this time looking fiercely at Shiro. “He was capable of it, of bloodshed, of cruelty –”</p>
<p>Shiro stiffens. “Your father did what he had to in war, no more, Keith. He certainly never enjoyed it, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” <em>Do you think I enjoyed such things, also?</em> he doesn’t ask.</p>
<p>Keith turns away. “I don’t know what I’m suggesting,” he admits. “I don’t know what to think.”</p>
<p>“None of us do,” Allura murmurs. “But we will get to the bottom of this – I promise.”</p>
<p>“Your mother,” Shiro says carefully, “she looked as if...well, as if she could be from this Marmora, or at least from one of the surrounding countries. I seem to recall your father mentioned she was a foreigner who had returned home…?”</p>
<p>“He did not talk about her,” Keith mutters, but he turns back to them, frowning. “She left, yes. I don’t know why. He never said. And I don’t remember her. Nor am I certain I want to.”</p>
<p>“But if she has answers?” Shiro hedges. “If she knows about this Marmora, and about your father’s fortune?”</p>
<p>“It is mine, now,” Keith retorts. “My fortune, soaked in blood though it may be.” He shakes his head. “Damn him for never telling me.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure he had his reasons,” Allura sighs, “but yes, it is...unfortunate he kept so many secrets. You know, he was rather paranoid, your father, before he went off to war. I didn’t know what to think of it, but maybe he thought that telling you would simply put you in more danger –”</p>
<p>“But he made that choice<em> for </em>me!” Keith exclaims, frustration bleeding through in his voice. “He did not even offer me the chance to decide for myself if the risk was worth it. And I cannot –” He draws in a sharp breath. “I don’t know if I can forgive him for that.”</p>
<p>“You’re right to be upset,” Shiro offers. Keith blinks, startled, color rising in his cheeks. “It seems clear to me that your father put some sort of plan in motion to keep you safe, but didn’t have enough time to execute it fully, and he didn’t tell you any of the details, so now we’re stuck in...sort of a mess. I mean, why else would he call upon <em>me</em> at the last moment to stand beside you? He must have had someone else in mind, but didn’t have time or foresight to contact them. Maybe Kolivan and Antok were his first choices?”</p>
<p>Keith bites his lip and sits back down at the desk. “Maybe...maybe. Or maybe you were his first choice...maybe he just wanted someone who knew as little as I did, if he was so fond of keeping us blissfully ignorant. But you’re right: Kolivan and Antok must know <em>something.”</em></p>
<p>“Whom?” Allura inquires, glancing between the two of them. “I thought I smelled a few other alphas in the vicinity…quite uncommon, you know, to have so many alphas under the same roof with one omega.”</p>
<p>Shiro gives her a warning look, but Allura just looks curious.</p>
<p>“They’re friends of my father, according to them,” Keith mutters, completely missing the implication of an alpha harem. “In his will – which, I suppose, contains what little he did deign to tell me – he instructed me to send a messenger to a certain address in the north, upon which I would receive ‘help’ from ‘allies.’ He said they would know the answer to a special question, which he included, and which they answered correctly when I asked it. He told me no more than that.”</p>
<p>“And where, pray tell, are these friends of your father from?” Allura asks. </p>
<p>Keith furrows his brow. “Kolivan...he said they were from Russia. I don’t know. I did not press further. We had more important issues at hand.” He glances at Shiro. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Shiro starts, a bit choked, “did you say Antok and Kolivan claim to be from <em>Russia,</em> as in, <em>our enemies </em>in the war in Crimea?”</p>
<p>“The war is over, isn’t it?” Keith shrugs. “I think they lost, too. I don’t know. Politics are silly. They’re not <em>my</em> enemies. <em>You</em> seemed to get along with Kolivan just fine, anyway.” He frowns as he says this, face still a bit red.</p>
<p>Shiro rubs his temples. Allura, however, smiles. “Russia, hm? Well, there is an easy fix to judging the truth of their claim. I speak Russian quite fluently, and lived in Moscow for some time, so I am reasonably familiar with regional accents!”</p>
<p>Shiro throws up his hands. “Right. Of course you did.”</p>
<p>“You think they might be Marmoran,” Keith says, tapping his nails against the desk. “Hmmm. Well – I don’t see what other lead we have. We might as well see if they’re lying or not.”</p>
<p>“We could also look in the safe,” Shiro says. “Or...we could if we had the combination.”</p>
<p>“There were extra numbers in the cipher,” Keith says casually. “Enough for a combination, I think.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you say so!” Allura exclaims, jumping to her slippered feet. “We ought to open it.”</p>
<p>“So I can be faced with yet another heap of money that I do not know the origins of?” Keith mutters. “No, thank you.”</p>
<p>“What if it’s not money?” Shiro suggests. </p>
<p>Keith looks to him in surprise. “And what else could it be?”</p>
<p>“Maybe he left you a note in there,” Shiro says. “Maybe there are more answers.”</p>
<p>Keith hesitates, then stands, and gives a jerky nod, looking to the bookcase again. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s see.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“This,” Keith whispers as they stare at the open safe, “is not a note.”</p>
<p>“It’s also not money,” Shiro adds faintly.</p>
<p>“But,” Allura points out, “it does look very valuable. It looks ancient, even – what a beautiful weapon.”</p>
<p>There is only one thing in the safe, and it is a knife. To be exact, it’s a dagger, perhaps half a foot long, with an ornate leather-wrapped hilt and a straight, flared blade. But the most striking aspect of it is the metal it’s made of – it gleams a dark, silvery violet, much like the lights in the secret room, but against the nearly-black metal it has the effect of entrancing irridescendence. The longer he looks at it, the more Shiro swears that the blade itself is glowing.</p>
<p>And then Keith touches it, and a brilliant silver-violet light floods the room. </p>
<p>Shiro dives forward, his first thought to shield Keith from the unknown radiance, but as quickly as it appeared, the light clears, and Shiro stumbles back as it reveals Keith holding a much longer, larger blade than before. The shape of it is wide and curved, almost scythe-like, and it reminds Shiro of the blades at Kolivan and Antok’s hip immediately. But this blade shines, its edge inlaid with a glowing violet substance, and the hilt gleams with silvery symbols where Keith touches it, where the leather wrappings fall away. </p>
<p><em>“What,”</em> Shiro says, eloquently.</p>
<p>Allura slowly lowers her hands from her eyes. “Oh, good,” she whispers, “you’re not dead.”</p>
<p>“No,” Keith agrees shakily, turning the blade over, the light dimming somewhat, but remaining an unearthly violet gleam. “But — I don’t know what just happened.”</p>
<p>“Did you touch some lever, some mechanism?” Allura asks. “Something that might make the blade...extend like that?”</p>
<p>Keith shakes his head. “I don’t…” He sets the blade back down into the safe, gingerly, and as soon as he lets go, the light fades and the blade returns to its original form, just like that. “Somebody else touch it,” he mutters. </p>
<p>Allura and Shiro exchange looks. She primly clasps her gloved hands. Shiro inhales, and reaches out with bated breath for the blade…</p>
<p>...and nothing happens. “Huh,” Shiro muses, vaguely disappointed, holding the blade in confusion. “Well. Apparently, it doesn’t like me.”</p>
<p>“Now I have to try, don’t I?” Allura sighs, and takes off one glove to carefully grasp the hilt. Again, however, it remains inert. “Now that <em>is</em> odd. There must be some explanation for this...you know, this metal is so interesting, I’ve truly never seen its like before!”</p>
<p>“Wrap the hilt back up, fully,” Keith murmurs, stepping closer. “Maybe it only changes if I touch it?”</p>
<p>Shiro wraps the hilt and this time when Keith reaches out, being sure not to touch any of the bare metal, the blade remains the same. “You have a magic sword,” Shiro informs him. “That could be...useful?” Keith gives him a look. “What, don’t tell me your father didn’t also teach you swordplay, or...uh, fencing, or something.”</p>
<p>“He...did teach me a little,” Keith admits, which surprises Shiro not at all, but also unfortunately plants the mental image of Keith in a skintight fencing outfit, which is the last thing either of them needed right now. “But I still don’t understand why he left this...nor why it looks so much like Antok and Kolivan’s blades.”</p>
<p>“Still think they’re from Russia?” Shiro asks.</p>
<p>“They don’t have glowing swords in Russia,” Allura adds. “As far as I know...it is a very big country.”</p>
<p>“Let’s ask them,” Keith retorts, hesitating before grabbing the blade. He shoves it under his jacket, and Shiro tries not to stare too anxiously at his chest, for fear the blade might suddenly change and impale him. Shiro doubts it can do that, but really — there’s no precedent for whatever this thing is. He was joking when he called it magic, but...he doesn’t know what else it could be, either. Something about the metal, he thinks, something about that light.</p>
<p>But when he turns to ask Keith more about it, the omega is already starting resolutely back up the steps and into his father’s study, his shoulders hunched and the faint whiff of his scent turning sour with anxiety. “Are you coming?” Keith snaps, not bothering to look over his shoulder, everything about him tense and uncertain. </p>
<p>Shiro follows. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Kolivan and Antok do not know Russian.</p>
<p>As soon as Allura speaks to them — also in the study, because much to Keith’s apparent dismay this is apparently now the unofficial meeting place in the manor — the two alphas exchange looks. Kolivan clears his throat. “That is not our mother tongue.” He looks to Keith. “You do not trust us?”</p>
<p>“You lied to me,” Keith says, quiet, with effort. “So tell the truth, now.”</p>
<p>Kolivan exhales. He looks pained. Antok stares at the floor. “We swore an oath, Keith,” Kolivan murmurs. “Your father did not want you to know —”</p>
<p>“My father is dead,” Keith snaps, starting forward, and to Shiro’s surprise the two alphas flinch, Antok’s expression shifting into shame and Kolivan into somber silence. <em>“I</em> want to know. He doesn’t get to decide that for me, even in death.”</p>
<p>“It is not the kind of secret you can walk away from,” Kolivan says. “It was not an easy choice for him, Keith. But he hoped this path would be the safest one.”</p>
<p>“Maybe I don’t want the safe path,” Keith retorts. “Tell me, Kolivan. Where does my father’s fortune come from? What is Marmora?”</p>
<p>Antok’s head jerks up and Kolivan stiffens. “How do you —”</p>
<p>“And <em>what,” </em>Keith grits out, drawing the blade from his jacket and tearing the leather wrapping away, “is <em>this?”</em> As before, the blade transforms in his hand, but this time when the light clears, Kolivan and Antok are bowing before Keith, Antok’s forehead almost pressed to the floor. Keith freezes, blade in hand. “What are you doing,” he ekes out, and then, more panicked, “get up, stop that!”</p>
<p>“You wield the Blade,” Kolivan says, not lifting his gaze. “You are worthy of great honor.”</p>
<p>Keith stares at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>“You are worthy,” Kolivan repeats. “Your father knew this. He may have raised you far from home, but your blood remembers. It sings to the Blade, as it does to all those of your caste.”</p>
<p>“You’re mistaken.” Keith’s voice is flat, but it trembles, as does he. “Whoever you think I am —”</p>
<p>“You are an omega of Marmora,” Kolivan says with finality. “Your destiny is that of a Bladesinger, our most honored warriors. Your mother is one of the finest. She warned your father that someday, it might sing to you, too —”</p>
<p>“Stop!” Keith cries, dropping the blade with a clatter. It falls at his feet, and both of the Marmoran alphas’ hands twitch, as if desperate to remove it from the ground, but neither dares to step forward. The light fades as he lets go. </p>
<p>There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his brow as he turns away. “My mother <em>left</em> me,” he says. “I’m not — a Bladesinger. I’m not Marmoran. I’m just me, and you — you’re strangers who claim to know me. Tell me all you know of my father, of Marmora, but <em>don’t</em> tell me who I am as if you have any idea, and don’t try to tell me that my mother cared at all about who I would become when she wasn’t even here.”</p>
<p>Kolivan’s brow creases. “Keith — your mother cares about you very much —”</p>
<p>“Then why did she leave me?” This is whispered, not shouted, and somehow the quietness of it is all the more devastating. “Because of her — her duty to be this Bladesinger?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Kolivan says, “but it is complicated.”</p>
<p>“How,” Keith growls. “Tell me.”</p>
<p>“You do not wish to be a Bladesinger?” Kolivan asks. “If you have chosen a life here, in this strange land, then I cannot tell you, Keith. Marmora has precious secrets. They must be kept from those outside.”</p>
<p>Keith’s eyes narrow. “But my father knew them.”</p>
<p>Kolivan pauses. “Your father never should have found Marmora,” he admits. “It was a mistake. He nearly died. Your mother saved him. He ended up helping us. We owed him a debt. He knew things, and he died knowing them, and even with his secrecy, I fear some of them escaped. Now you are pursued. Such knowledge is dangerous, Keith. Deadly, even.”</p>
<p>“So you’re not going to tell me,” Keith says.</p>
<p>Kolivan bows his head. “As long as you reject your path as a Bladesinger, I cannot.”</p>
<p>“Then get out,” Keith says, pointing at the door. </p>
<p>Shiro turns to him in surprise, jerked out of his bewilderment in watching this conversation by the unyielding anger in Keith’s tone. </p>
<p>Kolivan and Antok stiffen. “You called on us to help you,” Kolivan says. “To stand beside you.”</p>
<p>“And now I don’t need you anymore,” Keith retorts. His eyes are hard but his lower lip quivers. “If you really wanted to help me, you would give me answers without demanding I change my entire bloody life for a world my father hid from me since my damn birth. I’ll find answers myself. Now get out of my house. Take this — this Blade while you’re at it.” Keith kicks it towards them, the metal dully screeching across the floor.</p>
<p>Kolivan looks down at it, back up at Keith, and shakes his head, resigned. “It belongs to you,” he says, and turns to go.</p>
<p>“Keith,” Shiro starts, stepping towards him, but Keith’s scent stops him, hot and rippling with overwhelmed, cloying blooms. Keith stares straight ahead, his gaze unfocused, eyes brimming with too many thoughts and emotions, as if he cannot even hear Shiro.</p>
<p>“Krolia did not wish to leave you,” Kolivan says on the threshold, low and insistent. “She hoped you would come home someday — or else be happy here. Are you happy here, Keith?”</p>
<p>Keith doesn’t answer him, and when Kolivan slumps and leaves, the omega walks to the window and crumples down into the chair before it, knees tucked to his chest, blade abandoned on the floor.</p>
<p>Allura coughs softly. “Er...I...suppose I should be going, then. My, what an eventful visit this has been!” She laughs nervously. Keith does not laugh at all. “I will contact you soon, I believe. I’ll do some more digging, shall I? I do love a good mystery. If you have need of me, you can find my office in London, at 139 Lionel Square. Please, er...take care of yourself, Mr. Blackwood.”</p>
<p>Keith curls tighter. “Yes,” he says, distant and toneless. “The same to you, Ms. d’Chevalier.”</p>
<p>Allura leaves, and then it is just the two of them. Shiro waits to be dismissed, but Keith says nothing. When Shiro hesitantly approaches, Keith peers at him over his knees. Shiro falters. His cheeks are streaked with tears, and when Shiro sees them, Keith turns his face away, wiping at them angrily. “Keith,” Shiro says again, softer. He doesn’t know what to do, and when he slowly kneels beside the chair, Keith lets out a soft, bitter laugh.</p>
<p>“Are you here to treat me like a child who doesn’t know what’s best for him now, too?” Keith mutters. </p>
<p>Shiro frowns. He doesn’t move away, but stands to lean against the windowsill instead. “It was wrong of your father to keep these things from you,” he says. “And it was wrong of your mother to leave, no matter her reasons.”</p>
<p>Keith looks up, just a little. “You think so? You won’t defend your old friend?”</p>
<p>Shiro folds his arms. “Your father was hardly my friend, Keith – much less an old one. We fought together. We nearly died together. Is that a friendship? I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“I see.” Keith swallows and bows his head. “He may have been a good man, and as good a father as he knew how to be, but – he wronged me, and not just by keeping secrets. He kept me here, stuck in this house. He did it to protect me, because of my condition, but Shiro – I do not feel protected. I feel alone, and lost, and horribly naive. How can I be a warrior in a country halfway across the globe when I do not even know the first thing about going out in the society here?” </p>
<p>“You are not alone,” Shiro says. “And these things can be learned – it isn’t too late for that.”</p>
<p>Keith exhales and gazes out the window, past Shiro. “Perhaps not, but I will have to learn them soon. You heard my father’s dying words – I must be wed. With haste, he said.”</p>
<p>“Surely there must be some other solution,” Shiro starts, and Keith turns to look at him sharply.</p>
<p>“Surely,” he repeats. “Must there be? Must I either be the paranoid spinster, or the omegan warrior?”</p>
<p>“Do you want to wed?” Shiro asks carefully, and Keith laughs at him.</p>
<p><em>“Want?”</em> he repeats. “Oh, Shiro. How lovely must it be, to be a bachelor alpha, going about life as you please, thinking such quaint things as, ‘Shall I wed, or shall I not?’ How exciting it must be to have that choice. No, Shiro. I’m not that naive, nor should you be. There is no one else to carry on this name. Only me. I would be considered lucky if I at least had a choice in waiting to wed ‘til I was ready, but my father has not even allowed me that. As it is, I consider myself lucky that the alpha courting me is young, kind to me, and powerful enough to perhaps defend against the hunters my father spoke of.”</p>
<p>“But when you wed,” Shiro says, “all of the fortune becomes your husband’s.”</p>
<p>“I know how marriage law works, Shiro,” Keith says. </p>
<p>“And I still do not trust Lord Lotor,” Shiro says. </p>
<p>“You think I do?” Keith exclaims, and he bursts from the chair, throwing up his hands. “I do not know who to trust, here – I trust you well enough, but I do not know what to think of your constant suspicion of Lord Lotor, and at the same time I recognize that it could be seen as suspicious that he is gently but most certainly pushing for marriage –”</p>
<p>“He’s pushing you into it?” Shiro demands, and Keith turns on him with a hiss that leaves Shiro lifting his hands in surrender.</p>
<p>“Do not interrupt me,” Keith snaps. He straightens up and exhales, rubbing his temples. “Just – if we are to trust each other, then I need you to trust that I don’t intend to destroy myself, here. Trust that I have at least an ounce of self-preservation, Shiro.” He frowns. “I have taken your words to heart, and I...appreciate your concern. But I had Acxa investigate the Sinclairs discreetly, and she found nothing, Shiro.”</p>
<p>“Acxa?” Shiro repeats. “You trust her?”</p>
<p>Keith eyes him. “Why shouldn’t I? Do you suspect her now, too?”</p>
<p>“It’s just – convenient that she appeared right after your father’s death,” Shiro tries.</p>
<p>Indigo eyes narrow. “I could say the same of you. She had a letter, and credentials, just like you. She was there for me in a...difficult time. Don’t make baseless accusations, Shiro.”</p>
<p>“We don’t know if they’re baseless,” Shiro says. “But – I won’t make them. Alright? But I want to investigate the Sinclairs myself.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Shiro,” Keith mutters. “Acxa could be anonymous. You’re too closely connected to me – Lotor would take offense to me sending you sniffing around.”</p>
<p>“Let him take offense, then,” Shiro retorts, “and let us see just how desperately he wants to marry you, if he still pursues you –”</p>
<p>“Enough, Shiro,” Keith says. “I’m tired. I can’t stop you from investigating the Sinclairs, but...do not put our courtship in jeopardy. Promise me that.”</p>
<p>Shiro hesitates, and gives a small nod. “I promise.”</p>
<p>Keith just sighs. “Please leave me. I need...some time to think.” He looks at the discarded blade, and his shoulders slump.</p>
<p>“As you wish,” Shiro says, and goes to the door. “Keith…”</p>
<p>Keith lifts his head, quick, his eyes wide when they meet Shiro’s. “Yes?”</p>
<p>“Would you be happy, wedded to Lord Lotor?”</p>
<p>Keith’s hopeful, wide-eyed expression falls away in an instant. He looks down at the desk. “Did you not hear my father?” he murmurs. “This isn’t about happiness, Shiro – it’s about safety.”</p>
<p>Shiro swallows. “But if it could be about happiness?”</p>
<p>“Right now,” Keith retorts, “I think ‘what ifs’ will only cause me more grief.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Shiro says. “Perhaps you’re right.”</p>
<p>Keith clears his throat as Shiro opens the door. “There’s — one last thing. I want my handkerchief back,” he says. “Clean.”</p>
<p>Shiro inhales, holds the breath, lets go. “Of course,” he says, and leaves.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It’s only a week later, when they are stuck together in yet another fierce blizzard, huddled before the fire, sitting carefully apart with their tea and warm scones, Kosmo enforcing the distance between them, that Shiro returns the handkerchief. He does so gingerly, holding it out to Keith between thumb and forefinger as if it might bite him. He fears it already has.</p>
<p>Keith blinks at it, then at him, and takes it, shoving the clean, neatly-folded cloth not-so-neatly into his pocket. He clears his throat. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Shiro stares into the fire with an intensity that worries even himself. “I think I should be thanking you.”</p>
<p>“No,” Keith says hastily. “No, Shiro, it’s fine.”</p>
<p>“Then apologizing, at least,” Shiro counters. “If I...frightened you –”</p>
<p>“You did not,” Keith snaps, ducking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Shiro.”</p>
<p>“It was improper behavior of me, in any event,” Shiro says. “I should have been more aware about when it would happen –”</p>
<p>“You had just been very nearly fatally stabbed,” Keith mutters. “I think it is – understandable that you were not expecting – it.”</p>
<p>Shiro recognizes that Keith isn’t going to let him apologize for this, for better or for worse. Shiro sighs and admits defeat. “I suppose,” he relents. “Thank you for understanding.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Keith says. They’re both looking into the fire, now.</p>
<p>Shiro hesitates. “I did...want to ask,” he starts. Keith looks up and raises an eyebrow. “When I was – er. Did you – I thought I heard you having a nightmare.”</p>
<p>Keith sucks in a breath. Color blooms on his cheeks and he coughs. “I – yes. I was. You, ah. You woke me from it, I believe. You made some...some sound? I woke thinking you were right there beside me, but.” He bites his lip. “Of course, you weren’t. Just – a trick of the mind.”</p>
<p><em>I wanted to be beside you,</em> Shiro thinks helplessly.<em> I still want that. </em>“Of course,” is all he says. </p>
<p>He thinks that’s the end of it, but then Keith adds, “I...should thank you for waking me. It was – a very bad dream.”</p>
<p>“Do you want to talk about it?” Shiro murmurs.</p>
<p>“Oh – well, it…” Keith’s eyes dart away. “It was about you. In the dream, you didn’t – you didn’t make it. At the inn.” He swallows. “There was so much blood, and – and I couldn’t stop it. There was nothing I could do.” His hands tremble around his teacup. “As I said: it was a very bad dream.”</p>
<p>Shiro stares at him. Keith dreamed of him. Keith dreamed of him – dying?</p>
<p>“It was just a dream,” Shiro tries.</p>
<p>But Keith scoffs. “It very nearly was real, Shiro. That’s why the dream was so bad.” </p>
<p>“I wouldn’t have died.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know that,” Keith snaps. “Nobody <em>thinks </em>they’re going to die, but that doesn’t stop it from happening.”</p>
<p>Shiro hesitates. “Your father thought he was going to,” he says. “Die, that is.”</p>
<p>Keith looks at him, stricken. “What?”</p>
<p>“The letter he sent me, the one that mentions ‘A,’ the one I said I’d show to you – he said he thought he was going to die soon, in it. And that he was afraid of leaving you behind, alone.”</p>
<p>Keith’s jaw works. He takes a long sip of his tea, and rises from his seat to go to the window, blanket still draped around his shoulders. “He sent you these letters, but not me?” It’s both wondering and bitter, the way he says it. “He could have sent one, at least, towards the end.”</p>
<p>“Maybe he did,” Shiro offers. “Maybe it just got – lost, or delayed.”</p>
<p>“That’s what I tell myself,” Keith murmurs. “But it feels like a betrayal either way.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The winter thaws faster than it ought to, and as soon as it does, Lotor swoops in – as Shiro suspected he would. </p>
<p>Keith, at least by all appearances, has taken the knowledge of Marmora and the Blade and locked it in a little box which he does not plan to open any time soon. Instead, he accepts most of Lord Lotor’s invitations, inviting him to Blackwood Manor for tea a few more times, but far more often they find themselves at the newly-finished Sinclair estate. </p>
<p>It is a fine estate, to be sure, with manicured gardens, rolling lawns, large stables, greenhouses, and a very fine house complete with marble columns, an inner courtyard, and a large library. But there’s something about it all that makes Shiro’s skin crawl. Maybe it’s the huge white mastiffs in chains near the gates, or the way the house almost resembles a castle with its towers and terraces and the great, heavy front door with golden lion knockers on it. Or maybe it’s just because it belongs to Lord Lotor. </p>
<p>None of these complaints are particularly valid or evidence-based, Shiro realizes, so he keeps his mouth shut about it with Keith, but when he comes along as a chaperone, he is more watchful than ever. He watches not only the way Lotor interacts with Keith, but with the staff, with other rare guests, with the animals — and though Lotor is never overtly terrible in any of these interactions, Shiro is convinced that there is an underlying malice in him. </p>
<p>He isn’t rude to the staff, but he isn’t particularly kind, either. He treats them, Shiro realizes one afternoon, much like one might treat a piece of furniture. He recognizes their utility, and as long as they perform that task to his satisfaction, then they escape Lotor’s notice. But should they fail — well. </p>
<p>Once, a maid spilled a bit of hot tea from the teapot on the rug, and began apologizing profusely. Lotor did not raise his voice at her, nor strike her, and in fact said nothing at all, but he raised an eyebrow and Shiro swore he saw terror in that maid’s eyes before she dropped to her knees and began scrubbing away at the stain, along with the other maid in the room, who wordlessly brought over some soap.</p>
<p>His cruelty is a quiet kind, so quiet that it’s entirely possible Shiro is imagining it, but he does not want to accept that. Yet as the days go on, and still Lotor remains more or less pleasant, and most unsettling of all, faultlessly polite to Shiro, Shiro is forced to admit that perhaps he’s being unfair in his harsh judgement. </p>
<p>There’s another thing, too, that makes him uncertain. Lotor has stopped smelling like a rosy patch of rot. He’s stopped smelling foul at all, really, and Shiro doesn’t know what to make of it. His scent is still disagreeable in the way many alpha scents can be for other alphas, but the way it makes Shiro’s nose wrinkle now is nothing compared to the overpowering fumes of before. Shiro is forced to admit that he <em>does</em> smell like roses, more or less, and Shiro wonders if he’s going mad, hallucinating scents again.  </p>
<p>Because Lotor’s behavior is so inscrutable, Shiro sets his sights on a new course of action – he takes it upon himself to investigate Lotor’s study.</p>
<p>Shiro realizes that this is not the smartest thing he’s ever done. In fact, it may be one of the most foolish. But he’s gotten it into his head that Lotor has something to hide, and Shiro will be damned if he doesn’t find it before Lotor charms his way into Keith’s marriage bed – a scenario which unfortunately seems more and more likely with every passing day.</p>
<p>Lotor has begun presenting Keith with more gifts, which is the first major red flag. On their third teatime since winter, he gives Keith a new cloak, heavy red brocade lined with golden satin, its clasp a golden phoenix with interlocking wings. It’s the gaudiest, most expensive article of clothing that Shiro has ever laid his eyes upon, and Keith takes it with obvious reverence, running his fingers over the swirling patterns and exclaiming over the way the shiny scarlet cloth catches the light. </p>
<p>Shiro watches them admiring the cloak together in Lotor’s beautiful parlor, the stained glass of the windows casting soft blocks of color over them, and feels with a profound sense of loss something that he was already painfully aware of: he is not part of this world of theirs. </p>
<p>It’s easy, at times, to forget that Keith was raised in this kind of luxury – he can be so down-to-earth, even humble, that Shiro overlooks it. But with Lotor, Keith’s fine breeding shines through, as brightly as the red cloak, and the reality crashes down upon him that even if it were possible for him to try, Shiro could never hold a candle to the kind of courtship – and the kind of life – that Lord Lotor offers. Shiro could give him no fine cloaks, nor a fine estate, nor even the financial keenness that Lotor seems to possess. </p>
<p>Keith may have money, but it’s clear that Lotor knows what to do with it in a way that Keith does not, at least when it comes to honing his appearance to a fine, dazzling point. Shiro swears he has a different outfit for every day, he offers them teas and treats from far-off places, and there are a great many staff in the household, all with jobs to do that, as far as Shiro knows, do not even exist in Blackwood Manor. </p>
<p>As spring emerges, they walk through the gardens with fantastical topiaries – all of Blackwood Manor’s hedges have fallen into overgrowth – fragrant herb beds, bloom-laden trellises, and the thawing ponds dotted with lilypads, koi fish darting below the surface of the water in flashy gold and red and white. They also pay many visits to the stables, which are large and well-kept, with horses from racing and show bloodlines all on display in their stalls or in the neat pasture nearby. </p>
<p>There are kennels, too, where the mastiffs and the hounds are kept, and Shiro stays well away from those – the dogs go into a howling, yapping frenzy the first time he enters them, and Lotor remarks with a wave of his hand that they’re put off by the scent of another alpha. Shiro watches closely to see if they react with fear to Lotor, but the dogs all seem to adore him, gathering around him and gazing up, ears pricked and tongues lolling. The reason for this becomes clear when Lotor remarks that he often takes them fox hunting. </p>
<p>Keith’s brow furrows at this. “Fox hunting?” he repeats. </p>
<p>Lotor smiles. “Yes – have you ever gone? Nothing quite like the thrill of the chase, though the practice has its critics.”</p>
<p>“My father thought it was cruel,” Keith starts, brow not unfurrowing. “Isn’t it just killing for sport?”</p>
<p>Lotor sighs. “Oh, sport is certainly part of it, but first and foremost foxes are vermin – if we didn’t drive them out, they’d be sneaking into henhouses left and right. Many animals are worthy of sympathy, but foxes? No, Keith, foxes are nasty, opportunistic little beasts. Better for the hounds to have them.”</p>
<p>“I suppose,” Keith says uncertainly, giving one of the drooling mastiffs a hesitant pet.</p>
<p>“Speaking of hounds – how is that wolf of yours?” Lotor asks.</p>
<p>Keith brightens. “Kosmo’s well, thank you. I swear he doubles in size every day!”</p>
<p>Lotor chuckles. “Yes, that’s wolves for you. And the temperament problems you mentioned – any improvements there? Have you been training him as I suggested?”</p>
<p>Shiro’s eyes narrow at this, but Keith just says, “I’ve tried some tactics of my own, and they seem to be working – he’s getting better at coming when called.” Keith glances at Shiro. “He’s more relaxed around Shiro, too.”</p>
<p>“An excellent sign!” Lotor exclaims, giving Shiro a conspiratorial smile that Shiro does not return. “Having a wolf’s approval is no small feat.”</p>
<p>Shiro gives him a polite, meaningless reply, and Lotor goes on to offer to take Keith fox hunting sometime, an invitation which he declines, much to Shiro’s relief. That relief is short-lived, however, because on their next visit to Lord Lotor’s estate, the bastard gives Keith a horse. An entire horse. Who does that? Although, he’s already given Keith a wolf, so really, maybe Shiro shouldn’t be too surprised. </p>
<p>It’s not a pretty little pony, either – it’s a black thoroughbred, and a stallion, which makes it an even more absurd gift. At the shoulder, it’s easily a foot taller than Keith’s chestnut mare Strawberry, and when Keith looks up at it he croaks, “This is – for me?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Lotor says, looking up at the stallion with him and stroking its nose. “Isn’t he a fine creature? Purebred, and if you had an interest in breeding that mare of yours, you couldn’t ask for a better sire.”</p>
<p>Keith blinks, eyes widening. “Oh – I didn’t even consider – I see.”</p>
<p>“But he’s also yours to ride, of course,” Lotor adds, “and I’m happy to board him here. That way you’ll have a horse of your own to ride when you visit, instead of having to borrow one of the old mares.”</p>
<p>“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Keith says, hesitantly offering his palm for the horse to sniff. The stallion leans down and noses at it, ears tilting forward. Keith smiles as it nuzzles into his palm, and then reaches out to nibble playfully at his hair, sending Keith into a soft fit of laughter at its ticklish whiskers. Shiro has never been jealous of a horse before, but there’s a first time for everything. </p>
<p>“He’s very calm, well-mannered, and clever,” Lotor continues, “and of course fast and surefooted. I purchased him at an auction near the coast, and as soon as I saw him, I thought of you at once, and of how magnificent you would look in his saddle.” He gives a small smile at this. Shiro’s glare intensifies. <em>Suave horse-gifting asshole.</em></p>
<p>Keith turns faintly but unmistakably pink. “Oh,” he stammers, “I – I don’t know about <em>magnificent, </em>but I’ll do my best. Thank you, Lotor.”</p>
<p>“Of course, Keith,” Lotor murmurs, and he shifts closer, and Shiro pretends to have a minor coughing fit, mollified when Keith hurries over to see if he’s alright. As he does so, Shiro looks up and meets Lotor’s eye, and for the briefest moment he thinks he sees a dark glower in those bright hazel eyes, the shadow of a scowl upon the perfect quirk of his lips. </p>
<p>“Apologies, I don’t know what came over me,” Shiro says, straightening up, not breaking the other alpha’s gaze. “Perhaps I’m allergic.”</p>
<p>Lotor’s smile widens. “How dreadful,” he says. “You’re looking a little green around the gills – why don’t you rest indoors while Keith and I ride? I’ll have one of the grooms accompany us as a chaperone, of course.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s first instinct is to protest, but he pauses – this may be just the opportunity he was waiting for. No more skulking about the halls, scoping out the estate and trying to find a second to slip into Lotor’s study unnoticed: he’ll be left to his own devices inside the house, with Lotor out of the way. So Shiro glances at Keith, who is frowning in worry, and back to Lotor, who is still smiling, and says, “That may be a good idea, actually. I hope you both – enjoy your ride.”</p>
<p>Lotor’s smile wavers, then sharpens. “Oh, I’m certain we will,” he says. “Quite certain.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Shiro spends about five minutes in the parlor placidly drinking tea before he abandons the tea in favor of some long-overdue snooping. </p>
<p>He finds the study easily enough. After his weeks of light reconnaissance, he’s narrowed its location down to a single hallway – which is saying something, considering the house is a mansion with easily over thirty such hallways. Shiro dodges several wandering maids and a persistent housekeeper before he finally makes his way past the ornate oaken door and into the quiet study. He feared it might be locked, but either Lotor forgot or he always leaves it open. Perhaps the servants just know to leave well enough alone.</p>
<p>Shiro takes stock of his surroundings. The study is large, with two windows, one on either side, which give the space an even larger, airier appearance. It’s hardly the ominous dungeon that Shiro was half-expecting to stumble upon. The desk is bright, smooth cherrywood, and the paneling is a darker, grayish wood, with bookshelves built into the wall on both sides, and shelves laden with various vining plants and fluffy ferns on the back wall, where the sunshine meets them. </p>
<p>There are several paintings on the walls, most of them featuring Lotor himself. That, at least, isn’t surprising. Shiro snorts at one of them, which must be of a teenage Lotor – he’s posing with a sword and flowing purple cloak in front of a dramatic backdrop like a surlier version of Napoleon, his thin lips pulled into a sneer and pale hair gathered at the nape of his neck in a sad little ponytail. </p>
<p>The largest of the paintings looks to be a family portrait, not unlike the one in Mr. Blackwood’s study, although here Lotor looks around twenty. Two people stand behind Lotor – a man who can only be described as massive, with broad shoulders taking up almost the entire width of the painting, short pale hair slicked back, a serious strong-jawed face, pale skin, and dark, piercing eyes. He looks very little like Lotor. </p>
<p>Beside him, though, is a much smaller woman, petite with long, ash brown hair, brown skin, and hazel eyes, dressed in a severe gray gown with a high white lace collar. Lotor is her spitting image, though he’s much taller than her in the portrait, his gloved hand resting upon her left shoulder. None of them look particularly happy, but that is the style of portraits these days, so perhaps they’re really very jovial people. Looking at the woman’s cold hazel eyes and somber dress, however...Shiro doubts it.</p>
<p>Shiro spends a moment peering at the not-so-happy family before turning his attention to the desk. It’s a desk with many drawers, which Shiro deems automatically suspicious, as he takes it to mean that Lotor has many things to hide. Even more suspicious is that some of the drawers are locked. The first one he tries, however, is not.</p>
<p>It’s full of papers, some which are clearly correspondence, some still in the envelopes; others look like legal documents, and still others are just scrap pieces of paper with various scribbled notes in Lotor’s spidery handwriting. Shiro squints at them, skimming the papers to see if anything interesting jumps out at him. When he does find something, it’s not what he’s expecting – it’s a bank statement. Shiro peers at it, and sucks in a breath. </p>
<p>It’s for the transfer of a very, very large sum of money from the Sinclair estate to an entity called G.A.L.R.A. Shiro doesn’t know what a GALRA is, but he doesn’t like it. He also doesn’t like the fact that several of the details on the document – the truly interesting bits, like the sums of money and what he can only assume is the expansion of the acronym – have been neatly scratched out in black ink. </p>
<p>The next drawer Shiro manages to open is full of what look like receipts – for food, drink, clothing, horses, hounds, household wages, property taxes. They’re all quite dull, but of all things it’s the taxes that make Shiro take pause: he doesn’t know much about taxes for people like Lord Lotor, but he does know that the amount listed seems...a suspiciously paltry sum. He tentatively adds tax fraud to the list of Lotor’s possible crimes.</p>
<p>The third drawer he opens is...intriguing. It’s below three tightly locked drawers, so it’s a surprise when it opens, and he finds it filled with letters. They all seem to be addressed to Lotor, and are all signed by a ‘Z. Sinclair.’ The handwriting is thick and nearly illegible, but tucked alongside some of the letters are little ink drawings. Much like the handwriting, the drawings are rendered with thick, strong dark lines, but there’s a beauty to them, and the artist had a gift. There are some of forests, one of a huge pagoda, another of a towering mountain, several of lions prowling across a savanna, and a striking portrait of a tiger, crouched and snarling. </p>
<p>Shiro glances back at the portrait. None of the letters are signed with anything more intimate than ‘Sincerely,’ but there are more than a few mentions of ‘my son’ from what Shiro can decipher in the inky scrawl. A distant father, perhaps, yet close enough to send all of these letters...Shiro hastily closes the drawer, not wishing to intrude more than necessary.</p>
<p>The next drawer he opens makes him take a step back, because there are only two things in it – two vials, one empty, the other half-empty. The empty one is uncorked, and from it wafts a familiar, foul scent of rot. Shiro reaches for one, and freezes as the door creaks open. </p>
<p>Shiro stands behind the desk with nowhere to hide as Lotor walks in, closing the door behind him and casually leaning against the frame, arms crossed. “You know, normally one asks before rifling through someone else’s things,” he drawls.</p>
<p>“I...ah.” Shiro clears his throat. “I got lost. I was – admiring your plants.”</p>
<p>“Got lost,” Lotor repeats, and grins. “Yes, I’m sure you did. I’m glad you like my plants; I’m quite fond of them, myself.” He’s walking towards the desk. Shiro is edging away from it, readying himself for a fight, but there’s no tension in Lotor’s frame. He sees the open drawer – thankfully, Shiro had the foresight to at least shut the others – and his eyebrows shoot up. “My, my. I didn’t know you were so keen to invade my privacy, Mr. Shirogane.”</p>
<p>“I apologize,” Shiro repeats warily. “I just – smelled something familiar and...unpleasant. I admit to some curiosity as to its source, so I investigated.”</p>
<p>Lotor nods to the vials. “Oh, that? That, my dear Mr. Shirogane, is a special little serum my mother created not long ago. She’s a brilliant scientist, my mother – but I digress. I’m glad you found this, actually, because I have been meaning to speak with you about it, but wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up.” </p>
<p>Shiro blinks at him. “You...you were?” </p>
<p>Lotor smiles. “Oh, yes. You see, Keith mentioned, ever so briefly, that you found my scent extremely distasteful. I believe you just implied the same, therefore confirming it. May I ask if you have the same aversion now?” </p>
<p>Bewildered, Shiro manages to reply, “...No. It has...abated, somewhat.” </p>
<p>Lotor clasps his hands together. “Excellent. I’m so glad to hear that, and I’m also happy to tell you that the cause of it was nothing more than this serum – it was a prototype, and one of the side effects was a bit of a stink for certain sensitive alphas like yourself. I do apologize. That drawer contains the remnants – I simply forgot to throw them out.” </p>
<p>Shiro clears his throat. “What is this serum, if you don’t mind me asking?” </p>
<p>Lotor chuckles. “Of course not! A good question. It’s a serum to, quite simply, make me better. To make all of us better, really. It enhances scents, strength, instincts...it makes me an altogether improved alpha. Oh, don’t give me that look – as if you wouldn’t use such a serum, too, given the chance!” </p>
<p>“I don’t think I would.” </p>
<p>“You say that now, but this is the future, Mr. Shirogane. If you could be your best self – why not?” Lotor shrugs, smiling.</p>
<p>Shiro’s eyes narrow. “You’re tricking Keith, then?” </p>
<p>Lotor shakes his head adamantly. “I am doing no such thing! See, I’m not using the serum now, and he and I still had a wonderful afternoon together. It doesn’t change me <em>that </em>much, Mr. Shirogane – I’m not unappealing without it.” He sighs. “Listen, Shiro — can I call you Shiro?” </p>
<p><em>You absolutely cannot, </em>Shiro thinks, but Lotor continues before he can answer. “Shiro, I feel as if you and I got off to a bad start. I wish to remedy that. Would you do me the honor of forgiving me for my past rudeness, as I now do you the honor of forgiving...this intrusion?” He gestures around them, brow lifted. “You see, I understand, Shiro — you don’t trust me. You don’t trust my intentions towards Keith. And I respect all of this — truly, I do. Keith is lucky to have a guardian like you. But I don’t want to be your enemy, Shiro. In fact, I want us to be friends — or uneasy allies, at least...for Keith’s sake, if nothing else.”</p>
<p>Shiro eyes him. He trusts none of this...but Lotor is good at the wide-eyed innocence. And damn him for bringing Keith into this. “What do you mean, ‘for Keith’s sake’?” Shiro retorts. “You think my...wariness of you, which I believe we are both well aware of, harms him in some way? I don’t think so.”</p>
<p>“No?” Lotor shakes his head. “Oh, but I fear it does, Shiro. He doesn’t want us to be at odds. He’s expressed it to me often enough.” <em>Liar, </em>Shiro thinks, yet he prickles at the thought of there being even a grain of truth in it. “So...why don’t we try to start over, you and I?”</p>
<p>“I don’t see how we can do that,” Shiro says, “unless you leave Keith alone.”</p>
<p>Lotor’s lips thin. “Is that really what you want?” he asks softly. “I make him happy, you know. In fact, I suspect that even if Keith approved of this snooping of yours, he would have specified that you not do anything to endanger our courtship.” Shiro falters. “Am I correct? And if you are now threatening to endanger that very courtship, then it seems <em>you</em> would be the one causing harm — not I.”</p>
<p>Shiro stares at him. “I...see your point.”</p>
<p>“But you still don’t trust me,” Lotor replies with a wave of his hand, “which I entirely respect. Still, let’s be civil, Shiro. We can at least try to get along, can’t we?”</p>
<p>“Easier said than done,” Shiro mutters. “But you sound like you have something in mind.”</p>
<p>“Why, yes — I do indeed!” Lotor tilts his head. “I wanted to invite you to go on a trip to London with me. Just a little day trip, and we’ll stay the night if you wish. A couple of my friends will be there — both other alphas. I’d love to buy you a few drinks. Whether we return as friends, allies, or enemies is up to you...but I ask that you at least give it a chance. Again...for Keith’s sake.”</p>
<p>Shiro considers this. He smells a rat, but...Lotor’s offer seems about as genuine as anything can be, coming from him. Shiro doesn’t intend to make nice with him, but he’s intrigued by the possibility of meeting these ‘friends’ — and the chance to speak to Lotor while he’s inebriated doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s sure Lotor has some plan up his sleeve, but Shiro has plans of his own.</p>
<p>“Very well,” Shiro relents, folding his arms. “London, you say? When?”</p>
<p>“How does a week from today sound? The weather should be even warmer then — and we can hope that London may be a little less gray.” He smiles.</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t return it, but nods. “A week, then.”</p>
<p>“Wonderful,” Lotor says. “Thank you for accepting my olive branch, Shiro — you won’t regret it. And I daresay Keith will be pleased to hear of it.”</p>
<p>“We’ll see,” Shiro says, and hopes he hasn’t just made a terrible mistake.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Keith is ecstatic when Shiro tells him that Lord Lotor is taking him on a brief trip to London, and even Acxa smiles as Shiro explains the situation over breakfast. </p>
<p>“I’m glad, Shiro,” Keith insists through a mouthful of egg. “See, he’s really not so bad.”</p>
<p>Shiro eyes him over the edge of his mug. “This doesn’t mean I’m letting my guard down, you know.”</p>
<p>“Oh, of course not,” Keith says, rolling his eyes.</p>
<p>“You could at least attempt to be decent to him,” Acxa mutters, and takes a sip of her own tea.</p>
<p>Shiro leans back in his chair and looks at her. “You really don’t suspect him of a thing, do you?”</p>
<p>Keith frowns, but doesn’t interject. Acxa huffs. “Why should I?”</p>
<p>“You investigated the Sinclairs, did you not?”</p>
<p>Acxa’s eyes dart to Keith, and then back to Shiro. “...Yes. I did. I found nothing of note.”</p>
<p>“Nothing?” Shiro leans forward. “Do you know what G.A.L.R.A. is, then?”</p>
<p>Keith blinks. Acxa clears her throat. “Greater Anglian Laboratory for Research in Alchemy,” she says. </p>
<p>Keith’s eyes narrow. “What is <em>that? </em>You didn’t tell me about this, Acxa.”</p>
<p>Acxa turns to him. “I did not think it was pertinent, sir. And I know little about it, except that it seems to be run by Lord Lotor’s mother, Lady Honerva. It was owned by his father, and now I suppose Lord Lotor owns it, as Lady Honerva is an omega and it would go to the alpha or beta next of kin.”</p>
<p>“Owned, past tense?” Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Lord Lotor’s father is dead?”</p>
<p>“Presumed dead,” Keith corrects. “From what Lotor has told me – which is not much, he doesn’t like to speak of it, and I don’t blame him – Zarkon Sinclair went missing on one of his expeditions several years ago.” Keith ducks his head, picking at his eggs with far less enthusiasm than before. “Much like myself, Lotor then inherited his father’s wealth, and though he had his mother to grieve with, it sounds as if she...took the loss rather hard.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Acxa says, “it’s difficult to find information about Lady Honerva unrelated to her laboratory, which suggests she has since devoted herself entirely to her work. You’ll forgive me, sir, if I did not think it wise nor kind to pry into the private affairs of an omega grieving her alpha’s passing.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Keith says, and glances at Shiro in warning. “Did you hear that, Shiro? Don’t interrogate him about that; he has nothing to hide.”</p>
<p>Shiro folds his arms. “Have you noticed anything different in Lotor’s scent, lately?”</p>
<p>Acxa makes a choked sound and Keith pauses. “Different...yes, I suppose it’s been a little different. Not worse, though. Better, even.” He flushes and coughs. “Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>“He’s been using serums,” Shiro says. “Made by his mother, by this G.A.L.R.A. They enhance his natural scent and...uh, alpha-ness, and the prototypes were what made his scent so foul to me. It was one of the side effects.”</p>
<p>Keith leans forward. “Huh,” he muses, “so – well, that’s good, then! Now you know that it was just the serum making him smell like that, and not some hidden evil nature.” He smiles. “That’s a relief to me, too. Thank you for telling me, Shiro.”</p>
<p>Dismayed, Shiro says, “You aren’t upset that he’s using it?”</p>
<p>“Upset?” Keith shrugs. “No. Not really. If it makes his scent palatable to me, then I don’t see the harm in it. I may ask him to stop using it, just to see what he’s like without it, but…”</p>
<p><em>Shit.</em> Shiro forces a smile. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”</p>
<p>“Mm.” Keith takes another bite of egg. “Well, you’ll have to tell me all about London. Lotor has promised to take me there someday, when we know that I won’t be overwhelmed by it all – oh! Maybe his mother can make a serum to fix my condition?” He beams, and Shiro’s heart aches, and he finds himself hoping that Lotor’s mother really can help, for Keith’s sake.</p>
<p>“Maybe so,” Shiro relents. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The journey to London is – strange.</p>
<p>Shiro is ushered into the Sinclair carriage, and finds Lotor waiting within, along with his two friends – two female alphas. One is larger than even Kolivan, with a black cloak and olive skin, one dark eye and the other covered in an eyepatch, and thick curly black hair. The other is tall and lithe with a pinstripe suit, bright blue eyes, and a long red braid. Their scents mingle in a queer way – the larger seems to smell of cardamom and something strong and alcoholic, perhaps rum, while the lanky one is all bright passionfruit and rich coconut, but it’s hard to tell where one scent ends and the other begins.</p>
<p>Shiro sits down beside Lotor, facing the other two, the four of them unfortunately crammed close together in the carriage as it rolls down the road. Shiro peers out the window, and sees Keith waving from his own window, and tells himself that this will be bearable, somehow.</p>
<p>“So, this is Mr. Shirogane,” Lotor says to the other alphas, “and Mr. Shirogane, this is Zethrid and Ezor – two dear old friends of mine.”</p>
<p>Ezor reaches out with a grin to shake his hand, and when he accepts, she shakes it vigorously. She isn’t wearing gloves. “Pleasure!” she exclaims. “Lotor’s told us so much about you.”</p>
<p>Shiro grits his teeth. “Oh?” </p>
<p>He turns to Zethrid, but she does not offer a hand. She just says, “Yes. He told us you’re a thorn in his side.”</p>
<p>Lotor gives her a warning look. “Now, now,” he says. “It’s true that Mr. Shirogane and I had a <em>difficult </em>start, but we’re putting that all behind us, now.”</p>
<p>“How is it, being the guard dog of little Mr. Blackwood?” Ezor inquires, batting her eyelashes. Shiro bristles, and she titters. “Ooh, there he is. Quite a ferocious beast, huh?”</p>
<p>“Ezor!” Lotor exclaims, but there’s no heat to it.</p>
<p>Zethrid grunts, eyeing the scar across Shiro’s nose, apparently uninterested by Ezor’s line of questioning, which is a small mercy. “You fought in the war, yes?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro replies. “Did you?”</p>
<p>She scoffs. “Aye, in <em>a</em> war, but not that mess in Crimea. My wars were fought at sea.” She cracks her knuckles, and Shiro can see that they’re tattooed, letters and symbols faded with age. “Ezor and I both had our fair share of fights out on the ocean blue. No sieges and bloody battlefields for us – just our ships and our cannons.”</p>
<p>“Don’t forget your trusty pistol and my rapier,” Ezor laughs, lounging back against the seat. “Oh, those were the days.”</p>
<p>Shiro is reasonably certain that Lotor’s friends are pirates — or at least, former pirates. Hopefully former. Shiro glances at Lotor. “Do I<em> want</em> to know how you all met?”</p>
<p>Zethrid grins. It’s a frightening expression. “Probably not.”</p>
<p>But Lotor waves a hand. “Don’t be so ominous. It’s really nothing shocking. These two were invaluable members of my ship’s crew when we sailed halfway around the world, just a few years back.” </p>
<p>“You have a ship,” Shiro says. It’s not really a question, more of a resigned, <em>Of course you have a ship, you fabulously wealthy prick. </em></p>
<p>Lotor smiles, though it’s a bit strained. “It was my father’s,” he says.<em> “The Rosy Alchemist</em> is her name. After my mother, of course.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Shiro aims for casual, though his nails dig into his thigh. “Why rosy?”</p>
<p>“If you must know, my mother smells like roses,” Lotor replies. “Why else?”</p>
<p><em>Why else, indeed.</em> “I see. That’s romantic, I suppose?” Shiro tries.</p>
<p>Lotor chuckles. “Yes, well, my mother thought it was a foolish gesture. I mean, it would be like naming a ship <em>The Cherry Heir,</em> after Keith — hm, that actually is a rather good name. Oh, don’t glare like that, I’m only joking. But it does have a ring to it, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p>“He smells like cherries?” Ezor asks. “How charming!”</p>
<p>Shiro wants to protest, but he holds his tongue, even though to compare Keith’s scent to cherries is to overlook the complex harmony of its summery song, the warm golden notes overlaying hot red and softer russet…Shiro knew it before, but in that moment, when he realizes he has nearly memorized Keith’s scent down to the faint zing of cinnamon and soft whisper of chamomile, Shiro accepts that he is most certainly doomed.</p>
<p>Lotor clears his throat. “In any event, yes, I have a ship, and these two have traveled far with me. Have you traveled, Shiro?”</p>
<p>“Only to Crimea, and a few other places in the Ottoman Empire,” Shiro says. </p>
<p>“Hm,” Lotor muses. “It seems...tragic to me that so many are only given the opportunity to travel when they are also given the opportunity to die in a gruesome war. Tell me: do you wish to travel, Shiro?”</p>
<p>Shiro frowns, trying to push aside his forbidden summertime reverie. “It holds a certain appeal, I suppose. I saw many incredible things in the Empire — some terrible, some unbelievable. It would be...nice, to see such things when I was not so near to death.”</p>
<p>Lotor smiles. “Yes. I expect it would be.” He leans against the window, looking at Shiro keenly now. “Have you ever considered working aboard a ship? I think you’d take to that life like a fish to water – plenty of adventure, and decent pay, too, I hear.”</p>
<p>“Very decent,” Zethrid drawls, “depending on your employer.”</p>
<p>“You’d fit right in with that shiny arm of yours,” Ezor adds. She sticks out her left leg, and Shiro sees a gleam of polished wood where her pant leg rides up at the ankle. “Not many of us all in one piece – but that’s part of the fun! You get to say you fought the sea and won.”</p>
<p>Shiro does consider it, for a moment. But then he sees Keith, painting and staring out the window with hurt longing, equal parts fear and desire, and he hears Keith saying, <em>I would travel the damn world, Shiro. Sail the seven seas, go to every great city and see every wonder. But that life would be misery for me.</em></p>
<p>Shiro imagines telling Keith he has decided to leave Blackwood Manor to become an adventurer and sail Lord Lotor’s ships. He imagines those dark brows furrowing, lips parting in something that is not quite shock but more like disappointment. He imagines Keith’s sharp jaw setting in resignation. </p>
<p>He imagines Keith turning away, away from him and into the clutches of his waiting suitor, where Shiro can no longer reach him. He imagines Keith alone again, stuck behind another window, this one barred, locked by the alpha he was meant to trust, beating at the glass with his fists, crying for help when Shiro is unable to hear.</p>
<p>Shiro draws in a breath. He understands, suddenly, what this is. Lotor doesn’t want to make nice with him out of the goodness of his heart – that much, Shiro already knew. What he wants is to bring Shiro over to his side. To take him out of the equation. To leave Keith once more alone, exposed and vulnerable for Lotor to swoop in. Shiro is glad, then, for his ability to control his temper, or rather to give the outward appearance of doing so. Inside, he is seething. </p>
<p>“I’m sure you have plenty of useful skills,” Lotor continues, “a working man like yourself. You’re wasted as a manservant, Shiro.”</p>
<p>“I’m not a servant,” Shiro says. </p>
<p>“Then what?” The way Lotor says it is almost gentle, and Shiro loathes that more than if he had demanded it. “He pays you, does he not? You wait upon him, do you not?”</p>
<p>“He does <em>something</em> upon him,” Ezor whispers to Zethrid. The corner of her mouth curls. </p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t snap, but it’s a near thing. “I told you,” he says, “I am a family friend.”</p>
<p>That gets everyone’s attention. Lotor tilts his head. “I admit, I thought there was little truth to that statement at the time – but I’m intrigued. You actually knew Mr. Blackwood?”</p>
<p>“Is that so unbelievable?” Shiro asks. </p>
<p>Lotor pauses. “Yes,” he says. “The man was an enigma. Of course, everyone in...certain circles knows <em>of</em> him, but did not<em> know</em> him. There are all sorts of absurd rumors out there – that he sold his soul to the Devil to amass his fortune, that his wife – if they ever were, indeed, wed – was a foreign princess, that he never existed at all.”</p>
<p>“He existed,” Shiro says. “We were...in Crimea together.”</p>
<p>Lotor’s eyes glint strangely in the foggy light as the carriage rolls ever upward, into the moors. “Did you witness his death?”</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro says. “No, I was discharged right before that. Why?”</p>
<p>Lotor hums. “Witnessing such an event would just further explain your...<em>protectiveness</em> of his son, I suppose. Mr. Blackwood entrusted him to your care upon his death?”</p>
<p>“Something like that,” Shiro says, wary about this questioning. </p>
<p>“I see. Well, you must have been very good friends for him to give you a responsibility like that one.” </p>
<p>Shiro forces a smile. “Oh, yes,” he lies, “we were quite close.”</p>
<p>Lotor’s eyes narrow. The atmosphere in the carriage is decidedly chillier than before. “And to think, the likes of my father tried to woo Blackwood into friendship for years, when in reality, he could have just met him on the battlefield.”</p>
<p>Shiro frowns. “Your father tried to befriend him?”</p>
<p>“Zarkon Sinclair was a better adventurer than Blackwood,” Zethrid mutters, “but Blackwood worked alone, or something like that. Kept secrets, that one.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Lotor muses, “so many secrets. Kept even in the grave.”</p>
<p>“Why do you care about Mr. Blackwood's secrets?” Shiro asks. His palm sweats in its glove. “Perhaps such things ought to be kept – even in the grave.”</p>
<p>“You don’t think that’s a waste?” Lotor counters. “Do you think the Egyptian tombs ought to remain closed and buried, too, with all of their wealth of riches and knowledge forever left forgotten and inaccessible?”</p>
<p>“I think that wealth doesn’t belong to you,” Shiro says. “Nor do those secrets.”</p>
<p>“The dead have no use of such things,” Lotor mutters. “What if one of those secrets was, say, immortality? Or a cure for any illness?” He raises an eyebrow. “Besides – where do you think Mr. Blackwood got his secrets? I doubt they belonged to him first, either.” </p>
<p>Touché. Shiro’s eyes narrow. “Well, as it is – no one has found such a cure yet, nor immortality, so I think the chances are low.”</p>
<p>“You think too small, Shiro,” Lotor sighs. “If you think that way, then of course no one will ever find such miraculous things.”</p>
<p>Shiro folds his arms. Zethrid and Ezor have gone silent, but they’re watching the conversation unfold with an uncomfortable intensity. “Are you saying that you think Mr. Blackwood found secrets like immortality and universal cures?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Lotor murmurs, “you tell me.”</p>
<p>“Why would I?” Shiro asks. “Even if I did know – why tell you? Perhaps Mr. Blackwood swore me to secrecy on that very thing.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” Lotor says. “But I think you’re a smart man, Mr. Shirogane. I think you would do what’s right.”</p>
<p>“And what’s that?”</p>
<p>Lotor smiles. “Perhaps you’ll figure it out during our time in London. Until then – I suggest we admire the landscape. How lovely the hills look today.”</p>
<p>Shiro looks out the window at the hills in question. Shrouded in mist, with the pale sky above, they look more ghostly than lovely to him.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>London is a crowded mess – this is Shiro’s first unforgiving assessment of it. It also smells like too many things to name, part of which must be the people, the other part of which must be the streets, which do not look walkable, crowded with people and horses and refuse as they are.</p>
<p>However, the Sinclair carriage steers away from the more unappealing parts of town with haste, and before long they find themselves among handsome townhouses and lush parks. The carriage stops before one of the finest of the townhouses, and a butler greets them at once, ushering them into a small but neat parlor. </p>
<p>The four of them take tea there, and Shiro does find some solace in seeing that Zethrid and Ezor are as out of their element as he is. The conversation fades into meaningless, idle chatter – Shiro dodges any further questions about Mr. Blackwood and his secrets until Lotor finally gives up and turns the topic to Shiro’s time at university, instead, which is one of the few points of commonality between them. </p>
<p>Lotor seems impressed but skeptical at Shiro’s claim to knowing four languages – one language more than Lotor, who speaks English, French, and Latin – but when Shiro responds to his snarky French question just as fluently, the other alpha falters for the first time, and clears his throat before continuing a much more polite conversation in French. </p>
<p>Ezor rolls her eyes and turns to Zethrid to start talking in a language that neither Lotor nor Shiro knows. </p>
<p>They go on like this for some time, and go through several pots of tea and plates of scones before the late afternoon sun begins to set, and Shiro wonders why Lotor insisted on going all the way to London just for a three hour long teatime. But as the sky darkens, Lotor gains an alertness, a sharpness to his eyes and figure that leaves Shiro warier than before when he stands and declares, “Well, then – enough of this! Time for the real entertainment of the evening.”</p>
<p>Zethrid and Ezor exchange looks and grins and stand with him, leaving Shiro little choice but to stand and follow them back to the carriage. “The real entertainment?” Shiro asks, certain he doesn’t really want to know the answer.</p>
<p>Judging by the way Lotor winks and says, “Oh, you’ll find out,” Shiro’s instinct was correct.</p>
<p>The carriage rolls down the darkening streets, and the buildings change once more – they’re not in the slums, but they’re no longer in the wealthy residential areas, either. The street is lined instead with what look to be pubs, and the carriage rolls to a stop in front of one of the largest and apparently busiest, with a crowd clamoring outside. Above the door hangs an ornate sign with an arching black cat and the words The Black Kitten. </p>
<p>“Best drinks in the city,” Zethrid says in a conspiratorial whisper as they step out of the carriage and onto the pavement. “Try the gin. You won’t regret it – unless you try too much.”</p>
<p>Lotor bypasses the crowd, walking instead straight to the door and leaning in for a quick word with the doorman. The man visibly straightens, gives a stiff nod, and ushers them all in, opening the door wide while the crowd hollers behind them. Shiro hurries in, staying close to Lotor, unwilling though he is to do so – there’s a strange scent in the air, one he can’t quite place, and it’s setting him on edge. </p>
<p>Inside, The Black Kitten is much more orderly, with various booths complete with leather seating, a long bar with several bartenders, and what looks to be some kind of sunken orchestra pit in the center, where the band is playing. Still, it’s not as busy inside as Shiro would expect – only half of the booths are occupied, and the song the band plays is lazy, hardly the kind of music one would expect from a popular nighttime establishment. In the silences between songs, though, Shiro swears he can hear another band playing, the dull vibrations of another song from a much livelier club, perhaps The Black Kitten’s neighbor. </p>
<p>“Let’s get drinks,” Lotor declares, starting towards the bar. “All on me. Shiro?”</p>
<p>“Uh,” Shiro says, “beer is fine –”</p>
<p>“Nonsense, you must try the gin,” Lotor says, and continues on to the bar as if Shiro hadn’t said a word.</p>
<p>Ezor laughs at his dismayed expression and the other two alphas herd him over to a booth. “It is really <em>very </em>good gin,” she tells him. “Are you always such a sourpuss?”</p>
<p>Shiro eyes her. “Not with my friends, no.”</p>
<p>“Ouch,” Ezor says, fanning herself. “Did you hear that, Zee? He bites.”</p>
<p>Zethrid snorts. “Not as hard as I do.”</p>
<p>Shiro glances from one probable-pirate to another. Their scents are still mingling. Perhaps it wasn’t just because they were all crammed into one carriage…</p>
<p>Zethrid leans forward. “You scent us a lot, Shirogane. You think you’re subtle, but I’ve been watching you.”</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t break her gaze. “Your scents are interesting,” he says. “They’re difficult to tell apart, at times.”</p>
<p>Zethrid’s eyes narrow, but Ezor just giggles. “Clever, aren’t you. Well, we can sniff you right back, you know. That little omega’s scent is all over you.”</p>
<p>Shiro clears his throat. “We live under the same roof; that’s hardly surprising.”</p>
<p>Ezor puts her chin in her hand. “A little bird told me you do a little bit more than<em> live </em>together.”</p>
<p>Shiro stares. “That little bird is mistaken, then.”</p>
<p>“Drinks!” Lotor exclaims, sliding a tray onto the table with a flourish and promptly sliding into the booth beside Shiro, ignoring Shiro’s irritated sidelong glance. Lotor primly drinks his wine and remarks, “It seems I interrupted a tense conversation – Shiro, you’ve gone all bitter and quiet over there.”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t want to talk about Keith,” Ezor says with a pout. </p>
<p>Lotor frowns at her. “Then don’t needle him about Keith, darling.”</p>
<p>Shiro rolls his eyes and drinks his gin.</p>
<p>Zethrid downs hers in one gulp and slams the glass down onto the table with an audible crack. “Good,” she says to Shiro, “yes?” It sounds more like an order than a question.</p>
<p>Shiro’s never liked gin much. “Fine,” he manages, taking the last few sips and grimacing. </p>
<p>Lotor notices and chuckles. “It’s a good thing I ordered you that beer, too.” He waves the bartender over before Shiro can stop him, and Shiro finds himself with a pint. Lotor smiles. “It’s good stuff; don’t waste it, hm?”</p>
<p>Unfortunately, he’s right. It’s very good beer, and between that and the gin, and a few other drinks that Lotor slid his way with platitudes and apologetic shrugs, Shiro’s well on his way to tipsy before too long. </p>
<p>Lotor is leading him back to the bar – or at least, Shiro thinks it’s the bar – when their course suddenly changes, and Lotor is leading him instead to the orchestra pit. The strange scent from before intensifies, and Ezor and Zethrid trail behind, and Shiro stiffens, feeling suddenly cornered and confused. His head hurts. He’s dizzier than he should be – it’s a struggle to think clearly. He becomes immediately yet vaguely aware that he is in danger.</p>
<p>“Hush,” Lotor says, his smile close-lipped and curling, “the real fun is this way. Through here, now.”</p>
<p>On the other side of the orchestra pit is a door that Shiro hadn’t noticed before. It’s nondescript, but when Lotor opens it, there are two doormen waiting on the other side, and the strange scent <em>pours </em>out of the doorway, and abruptly becomes far less strange and far more alarming as Shiro finally places it. </p>
<p>“What,” Shiro stammers, “is this –”</p>
<p>“Oh, I think you know,” Lotor laughs. </p>
<p>Lotor draws upon his hand, Ezor and Zethrid flanking them, blocking any hope of escape, as they walk into a much busier, louder, and livelier portion of The Black Kitten, which also reeks of sex. </p>
<p>Shiro swallows, the scent so strong his eyes nearly water with it. Lotor seems entirely unaffected, save for the new sharpness of his canines when he grins at Shiro. “You didn’t really think I was just going to take you to a boring little pub like the front, did you?”</p>
<p>“I think I preferred that,” Shiro manages, blinking at this new space, at the leather booths which are very much occupied, at the hallways on the far wall, at the orchestra pit with a very different sort of band in it, playing a very different sort of music. </p>
<p>“What a shame,” Lotor says, “because I’ve already arranged everything for us here.” With that, an attendant is beside them, and they’re a beta but they’re dressed like an omega, all tight curves and glittering jewels and lace trim and intricate beading. Lotor gives them an openly approving look, and the beta blushes just as openly. “Hello, there. We’re the Sinclair party – you should have been expecting us.” </p>
<p>The beta’s eyes go wide, and they nod at once. “Yes, of course, sir. All of the arrangements have been made. Your usual awaits you, and the private rooms are 23 and 67, sir.” The beta holds out two shiny skeleton keys. </p>
<p>“You two take 67,” Lotor says to Ezor and Zethrid, handing them their key with a flourish. “Shiro, follow me,” he nods to the beta, “and do tell Fala I’ll just be a minute.”</p>
<p>“Of course, sir,” the beta says, bowing deeply as Lotor leads Shiro off with the key and Ezor and Zethrid slip away to the opposite side of the room.</p>
<p>“Where are we going?” Shiro fights against Lotor’s grip on him, but it’s unyielding. “Let go –”</p>
<p>Lotor is leading him to one of the hallways, and as soon as they’re a ways down it, Shiro finds himself cornered, and glares at the other alpha as his back hits the wall. Lotor’s expression is deadly. “I suggest you shut your mouth,” Lotor tells him in a low voice, “and enjoy this gift, Shirogane, because it’s the best you’re ever going to get. Do you understand me?”</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro growls. “Get your hands off of me, Sinclair.”</p>
<p>Lotor eyes him a moment longer, then steps back, but not entirely out of his space. “You know,” he murmurs, “I think I’ve been kind to you, all things considered. But I can be very unkind, if the situation demands it. Does this situation demand unkindness, Shirogane?”</p>
<p>“What gift,” Shiro grits out, “are you even speaking of? I don’t want a gift. I never asked for gifts from you.”</p>
<p>“No, you didn’t,” Lotor sighs, “and that was your first mistake. But I think you’ll like it. If you don’t, well – hurt my feelings and return it, if that’s what you really want.”</p>
<p>Shiro eyes him. “Just like that.”</p>
<p>Lotor hums. “Just like that. It’s just through this door. Please – don’t be rude.”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Shiro mutters, and follows him to the door marked 23, though every fiber of his being tells him this is a mistake. The door opens, and – Shiro freezes. It’s a small room, but plush, every surface covered in red velvet and satin and silk, with a large sofa in the center, upon which reclines an omega. Abruptly, Shiro’s disorientation fades in favor of horrified arousal, because the omega is lithe and pale with feathery black hair and wide dark eyes and – he looks very much like Keith. </p>
<p>Lotor pushes him none too gently another step into the room. The omega’s scent hits Shiro, and there’s a warm floral aspect to it, but it isn’t Keith’s – but, his inebriated mind tells him, it could be Keith’s, if he imagined, if he just...let himself have the illusion of it. </p>
<p>“Hello,” the omega murmurs, sitting up in one graceful, fluid movement. He’s clad in a black, beaded corset with a sparkling sheer red robe draped over his slim form, and when he tilts his head and meets Shiro’s eye, Shiro sees the faint smear of rouge on his cheeks and lips. He’s beautiful. </p>
<p>“He’s paid for,” Lotor adds, “for the entire night. Again: you’re welcome.”</p>
<p>Shiro can’t speak. He makes a strange sound low in his throat. </p>
<p>“What was that?” Lotor asks.</p>
<p>The omega waits patiently, demure and well-trained.</p>
<p><em>“Why,” </em>Shiro manages, that single word as frantic and bewildered as he feels.</p>
<p>“Oh, Shiro,” Lotor sighs, “must you really ask?” He gives an apologetic look to the omega and holds up a finger. “Give us a moment, will you?” The omega just bows his head in acknowledgement and folds his hands in his lap. </p>
<p>“Why would you –” Shiro’s gaze darts back to the omega, his panic building. </p>
<p>“We both know <em>why,” </em>Lotor retorts. “See, at first, I thought you were bedding him, Shirogane. I admit, this made me hate you a little. There, see, now we’re being honest. I love honesty, don’t you? But then I realized that the truth was far more tragic – for you, not for me. Keith is still pure as the driven snow, isn’t he? No, don’t answer that question, the answer is yes: it’s far too easy to make him squirm. I doubt he’s ever even been kissed. Yet.”</p>
<p>Shiro growls and for once feels no shame for doing so. “What have you <em>done –”</em></p>
<p>“Now, now, I don’t think you’re in any position to be making such demands of<em> me,</em> Shiro,” Lotor replies. <em>“I</em> am the one courting him. <em>I</em> am the one who is fit to be his mate.<em> I </em>am the one who can give him the life that he deserves. You are none of the above.”</p>
<p>Shiro is silent.</p>
<p>“You’re not bedding him,” Lotor continues, “but you <em>want</em> to, and that’s worse, and you know it.”</p>
<p>“Stop,” Shiro says, stumbling back, “that’s not –”</p>
<p>Lotor clicks his tongue. “Ah, ah, ah, remember what I said about honesty?”</p>
<p>Shiro sucks in a breath. “You don’t – understand.”</p>
<p>“On the contrary, I think I understand perfectly.” Lotor eyes him. The omega is still waiting, but looks worried, now. Lotor follows Shiro's gaze and chuckles. “You want to, don’t you? Go on; that’s what he’s here for. I really do think it will help you, to get out your...frustrations here. Pretend, if you must – but we both know you cannot have the real thing.”</p>
<p>“I can’t do this,” Shiro says, but Lotor is blocking the doorway, and he can’t think again. “Move – I said <em>move, </em>Sinclair.” Shiro fumbles for clarity, for what little leverage he has. “I’ll tell Keith that you come here. I’ll tell him everything.”</p>
<p>Lotor’s eyes narrow and Shiro knows he’s made a mistake. “You want to play that game?” Lotor shakes his head. “No. You don’t, trust me. You want to tell secrets? If I were truly cruel, <em>Takashi,</em> then I would tell Keith of your shameful lust for him.” </p>
<p><em>“No,” </em>Shiro whispers, backing away, back hitting the wall. </p>
<p>“Yes. I would tell him, and then I think we both know what would happen. He would reject you, cast you out of his home and his life, back to your little sheep farm, because you betrayed his trust. He thinks you are his dear friend, but all along...deep down all you wanted was to take him for your own. Such base alphas as yourself simply cannot help themselves, can they?” Lotor pauses, and smiles. “But I am not cruel, Shiro. I want us to be on good terms, you and I, and I want Keith to be safe – don’t you want that, too?” </p>
<p>“Of course,” Shiro snaps, desperate now, “but –” </p>
<p>Lotor holds up a hand. “No buts. You know as well as I that your little infatuation with him has got to end. I understand your jealousy. He’s such a lovely creature – the perfect catch, really. But Shiro, your jealousy is hurting Keith more than me. He just wants you to approve – he trusts your opinion, as his friend. If you cannot give him your approval...then at least let him go, Shiro. Do your job, but do not get too close. I’m telling you this as someone who sees how much it would <em>ruin</em> Keith if he were to discover your true intentions.” </p>
<p>“I don’t want that to happen,” Shiro starts. </p>
<p>Lotor smiles. “No. You don’t. Nor do I. So we’re on the same side, you and I. We just have...<em>different roles</em> to play in his life. Do you understand?” </p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro says dully. </p>
<p>“Good,” Lotor says, and opens the door, stepping out. “Enjoy yourself. Goodnight, Shiro.” And he leaves, turning the key in the lock as he does so, trapping Shiro in the room with the omega who isn’t Keith.</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t move from where he’s standing up against the wall, but he slowly, slowly finds himself sliding down it, head in his hands. The omega makes a high, startled noise, and at once there’s a warm presence by his side, a tentative hand on his shoulder. Shiro flinches at his touch, and it lifts away. “Sir?” the omega asks. “Are you – alright? May I help you?”</p>
<p>Maybe it’s because he’s more drunk than he’s been since the worst nights in Crimea, or maybe it’s because his emotions – the fear and the rage and the guilt – have seized him all at once, or maybe it’s because there’s a terrible truth to Lotor’s words, or maybe it’s because he hasn’t cried in years, but Shiro finds himself suddenly weeping. </p>
<p>“Oh,” the omega says quietly. “Oh, dear.”</p>
<p>Shiro can’t speak, can barely stand to look at him, and of course it isn’t the omega’s fault – it’s all him, all his own foolish desires, misplaced and doomed from the start. But at last he manages, “You can go. Please, I don’t — I don’t want you for what you were hired for.”</p>
<p>The omega pauses. “I was hired for whatever you want me for,” he says. “We can just sit here, if that’s what you want. You could scent me. I could hold you. We need not do any more than that...it’s clear you aren’t particularly in the mood.” </p>
<p>Shiro peers at him through the shield of his fingers. “What...what’s your name?” He pauses. “What do I call you?”</p>
<p>“Red is fine,” the omega replies. “And you?”</p>
<p>“Shiro,” Shiro says, leaning his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if he should have used a fake name. Well, too late now.</p>
<p>“Shiro,” Red repeats. “What can I do for you, Shiro?”</p>
<p>Shiro wets his lips. “I don’t know,” he admits.</p>
<p>“Hm,” Red says. “Forgive me for eavesdropping, but it seemed like your friend thought it would help you for me to pretend to be someone else.”</p>
<p>“He’s not my friend,” Shiro mutters. “Not in any sense of the word.”</p>
<p>Red tilts his head. “No? Is he wrong, then?”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to pretend,” Shiro whispers. “I should just – forget it. I should be able to make myself stop...feeling such things. But I fear I cannot. And it wouldn’t feel right to...to be with someone else, even if I was imagining it was...him.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Red sighs, “you’re in love.”</p>
<p>Shiro flinches. “That’s not – <em>no.</em> I can’t be.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think love works like that,” Red says. </p>
<p>“Well, it can’t work at all, here,” Shiro retorts. Red’s brows draw together, painted lips parting in soft dismay. Shiro looks away. “It can’t,” he repeats. “Omegas like him don’t end up with alphas like me.”</p>
<p>“I see,” Red sighs. </p>
<p>“He’s my friend,” Shiro says, and it sounds desperate even to his own ears. “That’s what he needs right now – a friend. Not someone who just – who just wants to bed him.”</p>
<p>“But that’s not all you want, is it?” Red asks. </p>
<p>“No,” Shiro breathes, dizzy again, this time from more than the alcohol and whatever Lotor must have put in his drink. “No, I want – everything, I think.”</p>
<p>Red is quiet. “You really want to try to forget this?” he asks after a moment. Shiro nods jerkily. “Then your not-friend may be right about just doing your job and not getting too close. It will be difficult, painful, even...but if there truly is no way forward for you, then it will save you more grief in the years to come.”</p>
<p>“Won’t that hurt him?” Shiro whispers. “For me to suddenly – become distant?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Red says, “at first. But people adapt, and perhaps someday, he’ll understand.”</p>
<p>Shiro wipes his eyes. “Someday,” he repeats, without much hope of it.</p>
<p>Red watches him carefully. “There’s really nothing else I can do for you?”</p>
<p>Shiro forces himself to look at the omega, crouched so close, sweet fragrance curling in the air between them. He swallows. “Maybe – may I scent you?” </p>
<p>The words tumble out clumsy and uncertain, but the omega smiles and nods, leaning forward, offering the pale curve of his throat. Shiro shivers, leans in to meet him, nuzzling just below his jaw, closing his eyes and letting himself breathe in. </p>
<p>It isn’t Keith, but he can pretend. When his hand falls upon a slim hip, the omega makes a soft sound of assent, and Shiro pulls him into his lap, and lean arms wind around his waist as the omega folds gently into him. Shiro knows he’s crying again when he unbuttons his collar just enough to let the omega rub against his own scent, but Red says nothing of it. </p>
<p>It’s the simplicity of the action, Shiro thinks – the realization that expressing fondness can be this simple, this easy; and perhaps in some world, it is this easy for him and Keith. But not in this world.</p>
<p>Red squeezes his waist once and then pulls back, gazing up at Shiro with more kindness than he deserves. “Better?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro lies. “I – I should go. Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Red says, and stands, offering him a hand and nodding to a key Shiro was too panicked to see before, which rests on the end of the sofa. </p>
<p>Shiro takes it, and looks down at him, once more considering the possibility of pretending, and rejecting it as soon as the image of Keith’s face returns to his mind. Red raises an eyebrow, and Shiro just shakes his head. “Goodnight,” he says, and Red just offers him a small smile.</p>
<p>Shiro unlocks the door, leaving the room and its omega behind. He doesn’t go back into the main club, but instead continues down the hall, his head aching worse than before, vision bleary. He brushes past several other patrons, some of whom protest and give him dirty looks, but Shiro keeps walking until he finds a door that leads out. He ignores the doorman who has started after him – it would be just like Lotor to order that he not be allowed to leave – and shoves the door open. </p>
<p>He finds himself in a dark alley, in the rain, the smog of the city settling in noxious clouds around him. Overcome with a wave of nausea, Shiro covers his mouth with his gloved hand and stumbles towards the street, hailing the first hansom cab that passes. The cabbie pulls over with obvious reluctance and looks him over. “Sir? Can I help you?”</p>
<p>Shiro climbs into the back of the cab before the cabbie can stop him. “139 Lionel Square,” he manages, “please.”</p>
<p>The cabbie names a price, and Shiro just nods, and apparently that appeases him because then the cab is moving, and Shiro focuses on the chill of the window against his cheek as it rolls down the cobblestone streets.</p>
<p>By the time it rolls to a stop, his vision is darkening at the edges. The cabbie has to throw open the door to get him out, and Shiro fumbles in his pockets as the man starts demanding his payment. Shiro is apologizing and trying to find at least an eightpence when a familiar, clear voice breaks through the fog and exclaims, “Why, Mr. Shirogane – is that you? Oh, dear, you look a fright.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t know where else to go,” Shiro admits, and Allura's eyes widen, the rich scent of cocoa and toasted almonds souring with unmistakable pity.</p>
<p>“Madame, he needs to pay his fare,” the cabbie says, bowing his head as the alpha strides down the steps of her townhouse to meet them. </p>
<p>“Here,” Shiro croaks, finally pressing eightpence into the cabbie’s waiting palm.</p>
<p>“You need fourpence more,” the cabbie retorts. Shiro blinks at him helplessly.</p>
<p>Allura sighs and draws a coin from her pocket. “There you are. Will that do?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” the cabbie says, peering at the coin and nodding, “yes, yes, it most certainly will –!”</p>
<p>“Then please leave,” Allura says, and offers her arm to Shiro. “Come on. What’s happened to you?”</p>
<p>“Lord Lotor,” Shiro mutters, shaking his head but taking her arm. “Oh, I am a fool, I think.”</p>
<p>“You’re very drunk, is what you are,” she sighs, and her brow creases as they step over the threshold of her home and into the light of the oil lamps. “Have you been crying?”</p>
<p>Shiro wipes at his red eyes uselessly. “Allegedly.”</p>
<p>She sits him down on the sofa and takes a tentative sniff, her eyes widening. “Shiro!” she exclaims. “I say, you smell like –”</p>
<p>“Don’t,” Shiro pleads, head sinking back into his hands, “let’s not speak of it.”</p>
<p>“Has something happened?” she murmurs. “Is Keith alright?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro mumbles. “I hope…”</p>
<p>“Well, then, I’ll get you back to Blackwood Manor in the morning, straightaway,” she declares, giving his shoulder an awkward little pat and rising in a flurry of petal-pink skirts. </p>
<p>“If you must,” Shiro sighs, and closes his eyes, and quietly passes out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>and the slow burn starts to burn.... &gt;:) </p>
<p>Thank you for your support on this story, it means so very much to me &lt;333 may be a bit of a break between this chapter and ch7 because I'm BUSY but - hopefully not too long.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What happened?” Keith demands, his voice carrying from the hall outside Shiro’s cracked-open door. “Lord Lotor was taking him to London — but Shiro arrived at your home alone last night?”</p>
<p>“Keith, he was very drunk,” Allura sighs, “and seemed...distressed. For heaven’s sake, he fainted on my sofa.”</p>
<p>Shiro is in bed again, and he hates it, but his head is still pounding and the curtains remain tightly drawn, for the sunshine stings his eyes. Even the voices in the hall are loud enough to cause pain, but Shiro won’t tell them to quiet down — he’s clinging to what pride he has left.</p>
<p>“That’s unlike Shiro,” Keith says. “Did he say anything to you, about what put him in such a state?”</p>
<p>“He just said Lord Lotor’s name, and called himself a fool…” She lowers her voice. “And if you’ll forgive my impropriety, he smelled like a brothel. As well as a liquor cabinet.”</p>
<p>“A brothel,” Keith repeats in a distinctly icy tone. Shiro dies a little more inside. “You’re telling me that Takashi Shirogane, instead of spending the evening with Lotor in London, drank his way through a <em>brothel</em> and stumbled onto your doorstep?”</p>
<p>“It seems that way,” Allura says, and then exclaims, “what are you doing; he needs<em> rest —!”</em></p>
<p>Keith storms into the room, his expression one of utter disbelief. “Shiro,” he demands, “what would possess you to do such a thing?” He pauses. “If you actually <em>did </em>do that. Did Lotor have something to do with this? Did he —”</p>
<p>
  <em>If I were truly cruel, Takashi, then I would tell Keith of your shameful lust for him.</em>
</p>
<p>“It was my fault,” Shiro says quietly, sitting up against the pillows and staring hard at the quilt. “I apologize. It will not happen again.”</p>
<p>Keith stares at him. “I don’t believe you,” he says. </p>
<p>Shiro just shakes his head. Allura clears her throat. “He’s still recovering…”</p>
<p>“A brothel,” Keith says, rooted to the spot beside the bed. “Of all things — <em>why, </em>Shiro?”</p>
<p>Shiro feels his lips twist in a wry, self-deprecating smile. “Such base alphas as myself simply can’t help ourselves, didn’t you know?” he murmurs.</p>
<p>Keith takes a step away from the bed. “What?”</p>
<p>Shiro shakes his head. “It doesn’t concern you, Keith.”</p>
<p>“You,” Keith snaps, “serve me. Of course it concerns me.”</p>
<p>Shiro stiffens at the unwelcome reminder, and slowly lifts his gaze. “I was not <em>serving you</em> when I was – away, last night.”</p>
<p>Keith lifts his chin. “No, you were not,” he declares, “and – endangering yourself in such a way, as you did last night, is unacceptable, as I have said before –”</p>
<p>“I am fine,” Shiro interrupts. “And I believe I may do what I wish on my own time – or do I serve you in all aspects of my life, now?”</p>
<p>Stricken, Keith takes another step back. “No,” he says, “that’s not – Shiro, that’s not what I meant.”</p>
<p>“Then what did you mean?” It pains him to be harsh in any way to Keith, but perhaps some harshness is necessary, to ensure the...proper distance between them.</p>
<p>“I am –” Keith draws in a sharp breath. “I am concerned about you. That’s all.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s own breath shallows. “I said it won’t happen again,” he repeats. “There is nothing more to say.”</p>
<p>“Somehow I doubt that –” Keith starts...then falters, a queer expression coming over his face. </p>
<p>He steps closer to the bed – too close, Shiro thinks with some alarm – and then Keith leans down, his pupils dilating and lips parting, brows furrowing together. His nostrils flare. Shiro tries to shift away, but it’s too late. Keith jerks back with a sound that can only be described as a...growl? Did Keith just <em>growl</em> at him? Shiro gulps. “Keith –?”</p>
<p>“You smell,” Keith grits out, staring at him, pupils so wide the black almost swallows up his irises. “You reek, in fact. Take a bath. That’s – that’s an order.”</p>
<p>“An <em>order?”</em> Shiro repeats dumbly. </p>
<p>“It’s hardly proper,” Keith mutters, shoulders now stiff and hunched, “for you to go around stinking up the manor with another omega’s –” he clears his throat forcefully, “with <em>that </em>scent.” His eyes narrow. “I did not realize this was a common pastime of yours.”</p>
<p>Shiro blinks. “What?” he exclaims. “It’s not. It’s <em>really</em> not. I don’t – what?”</p>
<p>Allura leans against the doorway and raises an eyebrow. “You did seem rather out of your element…”</p>
<p>“Well,” Keith declares, turning suddenly, but not fast enough to hide the sudden flush of his face, “regardless. Just – don’t do anything stupid, and make that <em>vile </em>smell go away!” And he stalks out of the room.</p>
<p>Allura and Shiro stare after the hastily retreating omega. “Well,” Shiro manages, still somewhat stunned, “that could have gone better. But it could have also gone much worse.”</p>
<p>“You could start by telling him the whole truth of what happened last night,” Allura counters, her arms folded and expression troubled. Shiro eyes her and she lets out a little huff of exasperation. “I’m no fool, Shiro — you didn’t spend last night in drunken revelry; you were terrified when you arrived on my doorstep. You were crying —”</p>
<p>“Not so loud,” Shiro mutters, eyeing the cracked open door. “What of it? I didn’t have a good night; that much is true.”</p>
<p>“And you expect me to believe that Lord Lotor had nothing to do with that,” Allura continues carefully, watching him like a hawk.</p>
<p>“I didn’t say that,” Shiro says.</p>
<p>“But why not tell Keith, if his prospective suitor was involved in such things –”</p>
<p>“Keith has other things to worry about,” Shiro tells her. </p>
<p>Allura’s eyes narrow. “If Lord Lotor is one of those things, then you shouldn’t hide that from him, Shiro.”</p>
<p>Shiro grits his teeth and rolls over, away from her, staring at the far wall. “If Keith is in danger,” he replies, “then I will make certain he knows of it, and I would put myself in harm’s way before harm came to him.” Allura draws in a sharp breath. “But telling him of last night’s events would only cause harm to both of us.”</p>
<p>Allura pauses for a few long seconds, and then murmurs, “What about telling me?”</p>
<p>“No offense,” Shiro says, glancing at her over his shoulder, “but I hardly know you, much less trust you.”</p>
<p>Allura puts a hand on her hip. “Right,” she says, “and that’s why you delivered yourself to my doorstep last night when you were in need?”</p>
<p>Shiro flinches and looks back at the wall. “It was either that, or the alley,” he says. “Or Lord Lotor.”</p>
<p>“I see.” Allura sighs. “Fine, then. I’ll just ask one question of you, and I promise the answer will remain between you and me, at least until it becomes dangerous to keep it a secret...do you believe Lord Lotor has unsavory motivations for marrying Keith?”</p>
<p>“Unsavory...how?” Shiro asks, slowly. All of Lord Lotor’s motivations are unsavory, as far as he’s concerned, yet the infuriating truth is that he still has no proof nor defined idea of what they might be.</p>
<p>“Unsavory, in the sense that he may be...financially motivated,” Allura says meaningfully. “Because, I’ll remind you, as the Blackwoods’ financial advisor, such information would be pertinent for me to know.”</p>
<p>Shiro sits up with interest. “Do<em> you</em> have reason to believe Lord Lotor is financially motivated?”</p>
<p>Allura purses her lips. “I have reason to believe that the Sinclair family has a great deal of inherited wealth...but it is running out.” She eyes the door, then closes it with a soft click, leaning against it so that her back covers the keyhole. “Do you know of G.A.L.R.A.?” </p>
<p>Shiro opens his mouth, but she’s already leaning forward, gloved hands clasped, eyes bright and intent. It’s the expression of someone who has kept a great deal of information to themselves for a while, and is finally sensing their chance to share it with another soul. “It’s a private laboratory, run by Lady Honerva Sinclair, who happens to be Lord Lotor’s mother. Now, as best as I can tell – and this is information obtained by <em>perfectly legal </em>means, and perhaps some<em> light </em>bribery, as one of the Sinclairs’ financial advisors, an unpleasant beta named Throk, owed me a favor – the majority of the Sinclair family’s assets has been redirected into funding G.A.L.R.A. since Zarkon Sinclair’s disappearance and likely death.”</p>
<p>“...Define ‘majority.’”</p>
<p>“Over seventy-five percent,” Allura declares. Shiro’s eyes widen and she nods smartly. “I was surprised, too – so I did a bit more digging. I mean, what in the world could warrant such an immense usage of their resources?” </p>
<p>“Nothing good,” Shiro guesses.</p>
<p>“No.” She chews her lip and steps away from the door, closer to Shiro’s bed, lowering her voice. “I’m not liking the answers I am finding, Shiro. Lady Honerva has...a history of dabbling in the occult, as well as in science, and at their intersection in alchemy. I have the advantage of knowing a fair bit about alchemy, as my father was quite interested in it, but...the products that the Sinclair money is buying for G.A.L.R.A. speak of quite a different sort of alchemy. Shiro, they’re…” She lowers her voice even further, barely audible as she hisses, “The ‘manufacturers’ they’ve been buying from are morgues. They’ve been buying <em>cadavers,</em> Shiro. By the wagonfull. And that’s not even mentioning the chemicals they’ve ordered – substances so dangerous that some are even banned to most doctors! And besides that, endless equipment, including what appears to be the parts needed to create a Tesla coil, of all things.”</p>
<p>“You think they’re...experimenting on dead people?” Shiro ekes out. “Allura, that’s…”</p>
<p>“Mad? Absolutely insane? I know!” She throws up her hands. “Believe me, Shiro, I tried to find some other answer, but the paperwork doesn’t lie.”</p>
<p>“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Shiro mutters, rubbing his temples, “I just...to what end?”</p>
<p>Allura is quiet for a second, then sits down heavily on the edge of the bed. “Here is where it gets<em> truly </em>mad.”</p>
<p>Shiro braces himself. “...yes?”</p>
<p>“These shipments did not start until exactly one year after Zarkon Sinclair’s disappearance – after he was declared legally dead,” Allura whispers.</p>
<p>Shiro is suddenly wide awake. “You think Lady Honerva is trying to resurrect Zarkon.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Allura says. “And there’s something else. He went missing seven years ago, last seen on the eastern coast of China, near the Shandong Peninsula. Mere months after he was declared missing, I was able to find reports of a large British ship anchoring off of the eastern coast of China, some five hundred miles south, near Shanghai. Officially, it was there for reasons of trade, but the ship – a royal frigate called the <em>The Rosy Alchemist </em>– originally belonged to one Lord Zarkon Sinclair.”</p>
<p>“Yes, and it belongs to Lotor, now,” Shiro muses, “he mentioned it. What are you saying, Allura? That maybe...Zarkon Sinclair isn’t missing after all?”</p>
<p>She nods. “Perhaps his son <em>did</em> find him, and brought him back,” she murmurs, “just not...alive.”</p>
<p>“Shit,” Shiro says. “The Sinclairs are bloody necromancers?”</p>
<p>“Alchemists,” Allura corrects, “but, yes. And there’s more –”</p>
<p>“Of course there’s more,” Shiro sighs.</p>
<p>She ignores his interruption and continues, “Mr. Blackwood did, in fact, briefly discuss Zarkon Sinclair with me several times. Mainly with irritation, as Zarkon saw Blackwood as a rival adventurer, but I got the impression that Blackwood could care less about him. However...in our last conversation, he seemed more serious. He told me that Zarkon had asked to accompany him on one of his expeditions to Central Asia. Blackwood felt strongly that he should go alone, as he always had, and when I suggested that he take Zarkon along in the hopes that it would mollify him and make him leave Blackwood alone…” She shakes her head. “Mr. Blackwood told me that could never be allowed to happen. I didn’t understand it – there were many things I didn’t understand about Mr. Blackwood – but perhaps he thought Zarkon Sinclair wished him harm?”</p>
<p>Shiro’s brow furrows. “But – Mr. Blackwood died in the war.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Allura says, “according to the report.”</p>
<p>“I thought you said that paperwork doesn’t lie.”</p>
<p>Allura frowns. “Paperwork doesn’t,” she replies, “but people do – often.”</p>
<p>“If the Sinclairs somehow murdered Mr. Blackwood…” Shiro sucks in a breath. “Then there might be two motives: Zarkon Sinclair wanted whatever Mr. Blackwood found in ‘Marmora,’ and Honerva and Lotor want the Blackwood fortune to bring Zarkon back.” He furrows his brow. “But that seems like a great deal of effort to go to in order to resurrect one man.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps they seek loftier goals,” Allura admits, “but it’s not so far-fetched, if you think about it. Zarkon was Honerva’s mate, after all. I have heard that the untimely and violent severing of a mating bond can be a deeply painful experience – it can change people. Change them enough that they would go to great lengths to see that person again, to hear their voice, to be with them once more.” She tilts her head. “Isn’t there anyone you could see yourself doing that for, Shiro?”</p>
<p>Shiro clears his throat. “I don’t...I don’t know about that.”</p>
<p>“No?” Allura looks again towards the closed door. “Well, someone you would go to great lengths to save, in any event. Someone you’ve already done that for.”</p>
<p>Shiro balls up the corner of the blanket in his hand. “It was my job.”</p>
<p>“To get stabbed?” Allura counters. “To risk your own skin again, investigating his suspicious suitor?” She shakes her head. “I have not known you long, Shiro, but even I can see that this is far more than a job to you.”</p>
<p>“It should not be,” Shiro retorts. </p>
<p>Allura pauses. “Ah, so that’s the way it is.”</p>
<p>Shiro stubbornly does not meet her eye. “It isn’t any kind of way. I think you should let me rest now, Ms. d’Chevalier. Thank you for the information. I...don’t know if it’s wise to tell Keith until you have more proof, but for the record, I believe you, or at least believe the Sinclairs are up to no good.”</p>
<p>“Very well.” Allura sighs and starts towards the door, lingering on the threshold. “You know, Mr. Shirogane,” she says, “I don’t think you should be so quick to assume that you’re alone in your feelings. That scent from last night has faded enough to my senses that it’s hardly detectable, but Keith certainly smelled something, and it offended him enough for him to demand that you remove it. Call it a job if you wish, Shiro, but I’m not sure Keith sees you that way.”</p>
<p>Before Shiro can reply – although truly, how can he possibly reply to<em> that</em> – she’s out the door in a rustle of skirts and a toss of silver hair. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Shiro is certain that Keith knows something has changed, irreparably shifted between them, but it remains unspoken, and Keith avoids him for a while after the London incident anyway, so it’s easy – easier than it should be – to let the distance between them grow.</p>
<p>Except, that’s not exactly true. It’s easy insofar as there isn’t much that Shiro has to do to create the distance, but it’s unspeakably difficult to not be able to tell Keith anything of that night in London, or to share how and why his suspicions of Lord Lotor have increased exponentially. Keith does ask, curtly, if Shiro has concluded his investigation on the Sinclairs. Shiro tells him yes, with effort. Keith asks him if this means he’s found Lord Lotor innocent.</p>
<p>Shiro hesitates. If he tells Keith all that he knows, then he has no doubt that Lotor will tell Keith how Shiro feels at the soonest possible opportunity. And Keith might not even believe him, anyway. But he refuses to lie to Keith, not when Keith might well be in danger. So he says, “I didn’t say that.”</p>
<p>Keith's eyes narrow. “Have you found something?”</p>
<p>Shiro clears his throat. “And if I said I had?”</p>
<p>“This isn’t a hypothetical question, Shiro,” Keith retorts, folding his arms. “A simple yes or no will do. You’ve been acting strange since London, so I’ll ask again – have you found something?”</p>
<p>Shiro hesitates, pained. “Allura and I are still looking for something more concrete,” he admits, “but –”</p>
<p>“Oh, now <em>Allura</em> is involved in this, too?” Keith demands. </p>
<p>“She’s just worried – she’s just doing her job, as I am.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but I don’t recall hiring either of you to be private detectives,” Keith mutters. </p>
<p>His tone is sharp, sharper than is warranted, and Shiro is all at once struck with an awful suspicion. He wets his lips and says, “Keith...may I ask you a question?”</p>
<p>Keith folds his arms tighter over his chest. The cinnamon and citrus in his scent flares brightly, strong almost to the point of stinging. “You’re already asking one, it seems.”</p>
<p>Shiro exhales. “You’ve been acting strange since London, too. Did Lotor – say anything about what happened that night?”</p>
<p>Keith blanches and Shiro’s suspicions are proven correct when he hastily turns away, towards the window of the parlor, and stammers, “He did not provide – many details – but I gleaned enough from his brief conversation with me.” Shiro can see the reddening bridge of Keith’s nose and the flushed curve of his cheek, and his heart sinks. “If – if you were so<em> pent-up,</em> I wish you had just – said something, and dealt with it in town here, Shiro, and not…” He coughs, and says in a rush, “Taken out your repressed lust on some poor omegan prostitute in London after drinking half the bar.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s eyes widen and he chokes out,<em> “That’s</em> what he told you? Keith –”</p>
<p>Keith clears his throat again, coughs twice – Shiro wonders if he’s coming down with some sickness. “Do not lie to me,” Keith mumbles. “I smelled – there was...someone else. Another omega. You let them scent you, at least. And I’m not – not a fool, Shiro.”</p>
<p>“You’re not,” Shiro says firmly, and Keith looks up, visibly flustered and possibly angry – it’s hard to tell. “You’re not a fool. But Lotor was not there, he did not –” Shiro forms his words carefully, each one still making his face burn. “I did let the omega scent me, and scented him in turn, but Keith, that was all. It was not…” Shiro bites his lip. “The purpose was for comfort, no more.”</p>
<p>“Comfort,” Keith repeats, a note of curiosity slipping into his voice. He eyes Shiro. “Like...when you soothed me with your scent after my night terrors?”</p>
<p><em>Fuck. </em>Shiro nods jerkily. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, a bit like that.”</p>
<p>He thinks this will ease Keith’s mind, but instead the omega’s face falls. “Oh,” he says. “I see.”</p>
<p>“Keith? What is it?”</p>
<p><em>“We</em> cannot do that anymore, can we, because it is <em>improper,”</em> Keith snaps, the last word nearly spat. “Either that, or my scent is not – <em>adequate</em> enough to soothe you, so you must pay someone else to do so. I understand quite well.”</p>
<p>Shiro freezes as Keith starts towards the door, hands balled up into fists at his sides. “Keith, wait, that’s not –”</p>
<p>Keith pauses. “Not what?”</p>
<p>Shiro wants to tell him, right then. There’s a part of him that howls in frustration at the thought of Lotor holding this secret over him, a part that says if Shiro tells the secret first, then Lotor will have no leverage left, and Shiro will have...well, he will either have an omega, or nothing, and the latter is a thousand times more likely. He swallows back the words. “Your scent is very nice, Keith,” he offers instead.</p>
<p>Keith goes tense again, and scoffs, shaking his head and leaving. “You’re not a very good liar, Shiro,” he mutters before the door clicks shut.</p>
<p>Shiro stands in the empty parlor and screams behind his teeth, just once, before calmly pouring himself another cup of tea and drinking it as it burns his tongue, because the alternative is following Keith and saying and doing something he will surely regret.</p>
<p>Distance. Professionalism. He can do this.</p>
<p>Shiro returns to the Shirogane farm a few more times, and of course the distance is easier to maintain there, though Ryou keeps reminding him of Keith until Shiro snaps and tells him that nothing is going on, nor should it be. Ryou stops bringing it up, but he doesn’t stop judging, and Shiro can’t blame him for that. </p>
<p>Mrs. Shirogane attempts to play matchmaker a few times – she’s unsubtly eager for grandchildren – but it’s hardly a surprise that none of the local omegas she lures to their dinner table are particularly taken by an alpha with a metal arm and what Mrs. Shirogane informs him is a ‘sullen demeanor.’</p>
<p>“Really, Takashi, what’s gotten into you?” Mrs. Shirogane exclaims. “You could at least<em> try</em> to be cordial towards them!”</p>
<p>“Sorry, mother,” Shiro sighs. “I suppose my heart’s just not in it.”</p>
<p>Ryou gives him a meaningful look which he pointedly ignores. </p>
<p>“Oh, dear,” she frets, “have you been feeling under the weather, lately? How are things at Blackwood Manor? You seem stressed.”</p>
<p>“Things are busy as usual at Blackwood Manor,” Shiro says, “and – I’m alright, mother.” He still has <em>not</em> told his family that he was stabbed at the inn on the way home – if he were to tell them, he has no doubt that his mother would do everything within her power to prevent him from returning to Blackwood Manor again. And Shiro still has a duty towards Keith – he refuses to abandon that duty. It’s just that duty is a lot more complicated than he anticipated.</p>
<p>“Mm,” his mother says, satisfied albeit not fully convinced. “And Keith? How is he; how is the courtship progressing?”</p>
<p>Shiro grits his teeth into the vague approximation of a smile. “It’s progressing,” he says.</p>
<p>And progress it does. As spring slowly warms into longer days, Shiro swears that Keith is spending even more time with Lord Lotor than before, but perhaps that’s just his own jealous paranoia speaking. Something that<em> is</em> certain is that Keith has begun wearing Lotor’s perfume again, and the scent of roses haunts Shiro’s dreams, as well as serving as an effective deterrent of any close contact between himself and Keith – the roses may no longer smell outwardly dreadful, but they belong to Lotor, so they are dreadful by default. </p>
<p>Shiro chaperones the two of them listlessly, tuning out during tea, riding behind them and hardly listening to a word they say, because he’s certain that listening will only make it more difficult to let go of his feelings for Keith, as well as make it more difficult to judge Lotor with any degree of objectivity. He struggles to keep in mind the possibility that the Sinclairs are not in fact necro-alchemists, or that they are somehow well-intentioned necro-alchemists, because if he’s being honest with himself, Lotor was proven guilty to Shiro the first moment he laid eyes upon Keith. </p>
<p>So perhaps Shiro is guilty of a few things, too.</p>
<p>Shiro lets the distance grow because he convinces himself that to do so is the best course of action for both himself and Keith. Red was right – if he does not do this now, then there will just be more pain further down the line. And though it hurts to play the role of a guardian too silent and formal to be much of a companion at all, Shiro tells himself that it’s the best way he can serve Keith – without distraction, as an alpha first and foremost, with any notion of friendship secondary, just as Mr. Blackwood intended. </p>
<p>And then Keith goes into heat.</p>
<p>It was difficult to stay away the first time it happened, but this time is nothing short of agony.</p>
<p>Keith’s heat doesn’t start at Blackwood Manor. It’s Lord Lotor who delivers him back home in the Sinclair carriage, Keith clinging to his arm and smelling of sweet summer orchards and sticky honey and cherries bursting with juice. His jacket and ruffled shirt are soaked through with sweat, and his riding pants – Shiro does not even dare to let his gaze wander there.</p>
<p>There’s already a growl in Shiro’s throat by the time Lotor steps over the threshold, and when Acxa takes Keith from him and Lotor says, “I do apologize, he had been feeling ill all afternoon, but insisted it was fine,” Shiro steps forward and snaps, “You should have known sooner.”</p>
<p>Lotor’s piercing hazel eyes turn upon him. “Keith and I were preoccupied,” he replies, “and I trusted him to know what was best for himself. Don’t you?”</p>
<p>Shiro glares. Axca clears her throat loudly and nods to Lotor. “Thank you for bringing him here.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Lotor says, not breaking Shiro’s gaze, “and I gave him some extra perfume on his last visit to the estate, so please, Keith, do remember to use that if it becomes difficult to bear.”</p>
<p>Keith nods blearily, hair sticking to his forehead. “Yes...right, yes…the perfume…”</p>
<p>Lotor nods to Shiro. “Shouldn’t you be finding a different place to spend the week?”</p>
<p>“No,” Keith manages, “Shiro stays.”</p>
<p>Shiro looks at him in surprise, face warming.</p>
<p>Lotor’s mouth curls. “Of course,” he murmurs, “ever the vigilant, selfless guardian, isn’t he? How lucky you are to have such a <em>noble</em> protector, Keith.”</p>
<p>Shiro stiffens. Keith doesn’t look at either of them when he mumbles, “Yes...lucky.”</p>
<p>“Well, then,” Lotor declares, “I should be going. I’ll sleep well tonight knowing he’s in good hands.”</p>
<p>As soon as Lotor is gone and Acxa has set Keith up in his room, with Kosmo guarding it, Shiro begins pacing the manor. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, at first, and it’s only after several hours of stalking up and down the halls, checking every window and door and possible egress, that Acxa catches him in the act and hisses, “Shirogane, what has gotten into you?”</p>
<p>Shiro’s first instinct is to growl at her; he barely restrains himself. “I don’t – know,” he admits, and rubs his temples. “I suppose I’m...making sure Keith is safe?”</p>
<p>Acxa puts her hands on her hips. “From<em> what.”</em></p>
<p>Shiro gestures loosely to the entire world. “Anything,” he admits, more than a little helplessly.</p>
<p>She rolls her eyes. “Alpha instincts,” she mutters. “Maybe Lord Lotor was right. Maybe you should leave.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s figurative hackles rise. “No. You heard what Keith said. He wants me here.”</p>
<p>“And that in and of itself is a problem,” Acxa snaps. But she considers him. “You have been...different around Keith, lately. Keith has expressed to me that he thinks you are upset with him.”</p>
<p>Shiro tenses. “Upset? I’m not upset with him. Why would I be upset?”</p>
<p>“You have been spending less time with him,” Axca retorts, “which I have tried to explain to Keith is perfectly understandable and in line with your duties, but he has gotten it into his head that you are avoiding him.” She raises an eyebrow. “Are you avoiding him?”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to overstep,” Shiro mutters. “I thought some distance might be more appropriate.”</p>
<p>“And you are correct,” Acxa says, “except that you have<em> already</em> overstepped, Shirogane, so he interprets this formality as coldness, and I believe he is hurt by it.”</p>
<p>Shiro rubs his temple. She’s right. She’s right and he hates that she’s right, but he hates the thought that he’s hurting Keith even more. “Then what do you suggest I do?” </p>
<p>“Communicating might be a strong start,” she says dryly. “Assure him you are still his friend, but that there must be certain boundaries. That should be simple enough for him.”</p>
<p>“And if it’s not?” Shiro says before thinking.</p>
<p>Acxa’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean? You do not think Keith will accept such boundaries?”</p>
<p>“Keith has never been very good with boundaries,” Shiro replies. <em>And I've never been very good at enforcing them.</em></p>
<p>Acxa’s eyes narrow to near-slits of pure suspicion. “If you are saying what I think you’re saying…”</p>
<p>Shiro lifts his chin. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through him, but he’s feeling bold. “And what do you think I’m saying, Acxa?”</p>
<p>For a moment, she looks deeply uncertain. She glances to and fro, as if they’re likely to be ambushed at any moment, then takes a step closer. Her voice is low when she says, “Has there been – any <em>improper contact</em> between you and young Mr. Blackwood?”</p>
<p>Shiro blinks, about to answer, but then...he pauses. Because, “Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>“Do not play coy with me,” Acxa warns. “I am well aware how Keith’s scent changes around you. Any beta, perhaps even anyone with a half-decent sense of smell at all, can tell that your presence elicits...an unhealthy amount of excitement in him.”</p>
<p><em>“Excitement,”</em> Shiro repeats. </p>
<p>Acxa’s nose wrinkles. “You are not denying the improper contact, and this is not comforting, Shirogane.”</p>
<p>“No, I just – I don’t know what scent you’re referring to,” Shiro starts, genuinely puzzled. “There’s no change in Keith’s scent, he just – always smells like…how he smells.”</p>
<p>“Of course he always smells that way to you,” Acxa snaps, “you don’t have a beta’s nose, and he only smells that way when you are there!”</p>
<p>“What way,” Shiro says, now almost pleading.</p>
<p>Acxa bears an expression that is somehow both pitying and murderous. “You’re really going to make me say it.”</p>
<p>“Make me say <em>what –”</em></p>
<p>“Keith’s scent changes around you in a way which suggests he is, consciously or not, attempting to <em>tempt</em> you, Shirogane,” Acxa hisses. “As only an omega can tempt an alpha – to <em>breed,</em> Shirogane, he smells fertile, <em>if you must know!”</em></p>
<p>“Fertile,” Shiro repeats, like he’s never heard the word before. He hasn’t, at least not in the context of<em> Keith,</em> and he’s having some difficulty. “Ah.”</p>
<p>Acxa lifts a finger. “Do not make me strike you.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s head spins. He clears his throat, searching for something reasonable to say and only coming up with, “Does his scent change that way around Lotor –”</p>
<p>Acxa lets out a curse and lunges for him; Shiro steps deftly out of range of the seething beta. “How dare you ask something so – so –” She slowly deflates, though her glare remains. “I refuse to answer that question.”</p>
<p>Shiro looks intently down at her. “Yet you ask me if I’m warming Keith’s bed. Isn’t that what you’re insinuating?” It’s an effort to even get the words out. His skin is prickling, hot. Distantly, the scent of an omega entering heat drifts heavy in the air, too close, yet not nearly close enough. <em>Dangerous,</em> he thinks, but it’s a distant thought.</p>
<p>“So you admit it?” she demands, and she looks genuinely upset, now, her mild peppermint scent suddenly metallic and acrid. “You have defiled him?”</p>
<p>Shiro’s own temper rears its head at that. <em>“Defiled?”</em> he repeats. <em>“That’s</em> why you care so much about this? Because you think I’ve somehow, what, tainted him for anyone else, ruined him for the purity of a lordly marriage bed?”</p>
<p>“That is...a concern.” Acxa takes a measured breath. “Shirogane, I must – if there is even a chance that he might be with child –”</p>
<p>Shiro rears back. <em>“What?”</em></p>
<p>She continues valiantly, albeit desperately. “Listen to me! It is important, Shiro – there must not be a bastard Blackwood.”</p>
<p>“And why must there not be one?” Shiro keeps his voice remarkably steady for someone who is currently being accused of siring the illegitimate child of the very man he has desired for months, and whom he has also barely looked at in the last several weeks in an apparently ill-fated attempt to curb that very desire.</p>
<p>Acxa frowns deeply. “It would cause instability,” she retorts, “and such a child would be seen as a threat –”</p>
<p>Shiro zeroes in on that last word. <em>“Who,”</em> he says slowly, “would see such a child as a threat, Acxa?”</p>
<p>She turns away, jaw set. “Too many people,” is all she says. She glances at him warily. “But you are bluffing, are you not? Your scent...it doesn’t change around him. It hardly changes at all. Did you know that? It’s an impossible constant.”</p>
<p>“No. I didn’t know that.” Shiro briefly debates lying, but the very thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He sighs. “Nothing is happening between us, Acxa. And Keith is just – reactive. Isn’t he? I doubt he even knows he’s doing...that.”</p>
<p>She relaxes, but only marginally. “Perhaps not,” she mutters, “but Keith Blackwood is a cleverer creature than you may suspect, especially when it comes to getting what he wants.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Shiro shouldn’t, but he ends up in front of Keith’s door. To his credit, this is after two full days of pacing the entire manor, the estate, and briefly contemplating leaving altogether only to find that his body actually would not obey that command. Keith needs him here, so he stays. End of discussion.</p>
<p>But Keith doesn’t need him hovering in front of his door. Kosmo gives Shiro a questioning look but doesn’t chase him off – the wolf isn’t curled directly in front of the door, but below the nearby window, and has his tail tucked over his nose, like maybe the scent is even a little too much for him. It’s certainly...potent. Shiro focuses on breathing through his mouth as he approaches. </p>
<p>He doesn’t even know what to say – but he can’t stop thinking about what Acxa told him. There’s the bit about Keith’s scent, yes, and that’s something Shiro can still hardly begin to process without igniting some dangerous false hopes...what he’s really stuck on is that Keith thinks Shiro is upset with him. Shiro needs Keith to know that none of this is Keith’s doing. He needs Keith to know that Shiro feels just as fondly for him as he always has.</p>
<p>Wait –<em> fondly? </em>No. That’s not – oh, dear. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come, after all. He’s not thinking straight. He’s not thinking at all, except of Keith, stuck alone in that room, hurting and confused and quite possibly believing that Shiro loathes him –</p>
<p>Shiro’s already knocking on the door. “Keith?” he calls, softly, in the hopes that Acxa won’t come running with claws out. “I’m...I’m here.”</p>
<p>The dull silence from within is broken by a faint rustling, the creak of a bed, and then a faint, “Alpha?”</p>
<p>Shiro swallows thickly. Yes. This was most definitely a mistake. So...so why isn’t he leaving? More importantly, why is he saying, “Yes. Keith – can you hear me?”</p>
<p>The rustling grows more agitated, and soft footfalls thump across the floorboards, and then stop, a low but unmistakable whimper trembling in the air. “You’re – not going to come in,” Keith gasps, a sob caught in his voice, “are you?”</p>
<p>“You know I cannot do that,” Shiro whispers, the palm of his hand now pressed flat against the door.</p>
<p>There’s a pause. “But – would you? If you could?” Another thump of feet on the floorboards. “Please.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s heart stutters. “That’s not why I’m here,” he says, “I wanted to tell you something. Something important. Are you listening?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith says. “Tell me, alpha.”</p>
<p>“Keith.” Shiro closes his eyes briefly. “Do you even know my name, right now?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t even have to hear Keith’s little whimper to know the omega is immediately distressed by the question. The desperate ripples of too-sweet helplessness cascade through his scent, strong enough to permeate the wood of the door, to slip between the cracks and curl around Shiro with a tender cruelty. “You think,” Keith gasps, “I would forget?”</p>
<p>“I don’t –” Shiro hand tightens into a fist on the door. “I don’t know. Would you?”</p>
<p>He braces himself for the name Keith will say, if he says any at all. If he says <em>Lotor,</em> then Shiro does not know what he will do. Something foolish, probably. </p>
<p>But Keith does say a name, and it isn’t Lotor’s. “Shiro,” he says, now within inches of the door, <em>“alpha.”</em></p>
<p>Sharpened canines cut straight into Shiro’s lip as he bites down, hard, tasting blood. “Keith – that’s – you can’t –”</p>
<p>Keith is right up against the door, now – Shiro can see the shadow of him, practically feel the warmth of his body. “I can,” he says, quiet and utterly sure of himself. “Shiro. I’m listening. Tell me.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s hand falls limply from the door. He resists the urge to lean up against it, and instead sinks to his knees, kneeling, as close as he dares. “I want you to know,” he whispers, “that – I’m not upset with you. Alright? It was never, ever that. You are not to blame. And I – I apologize if I have made you think otherwise. That was wrong of me.” </p>
<p>There’s a beat of silence, and then — a sniffle. Shiro’s eyes widen as it’s followed by a soft, gasping sob. His entire body strains forward in concern. “Keith?”</p>
<p>“You’re not upset with me,” Keith repeats, breathy, in between a string of sobs. “I didn’t do anything wrong?”</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro whispers. “Nothing, Keith.”</p>
<p>Keith hiccups on a sob, now fully crying, but there’s a relief in it, in each hitching breath. “You’re not going to leave?” he whispers back through the door. “You promise?”</p>
<p>Shiro wants to hold him. Needs to hold him. This distance, physical or not, isn’t fair. Not to either of them, he realizes. “I promise,” Shiro says. “I’m here. As — as close as I can be.”</p>
<p>“You could be closer,” Keith says, but it’s half-hearted. “You could hold me while I sleep, like you used to. I miss that. I miss you.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Keith,” Shiro breathes, “you shouldn’t say such things.”</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t I?” The door creaks, and bent legs shift; Shiro can see the pale flicker of bare skin in the crack under the door. </p>
<p>“No,” Shiro says, gentle but firm. “You shouldn’t.”</p>
<p>Keith sighs. “When this passes,” he says, “can’t we go somewhere together, just you and I?”</p>
<p>Shiro peers at the door, swears he can see a glint of indigo through the keyhole. “Where would we go, Keith?”</p>
<p>“A picnic,” Keith mumbles, a sleepy quality to his voice, now. “By the river. As – as friends.” He shuffles around a little. “We are friends – aren’t we?”</p>
<p><em>Friends don’t do this, </em>Shiro thinks. <em>I don’t know what this is. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous.</em> But he finds himself nodding. “Yes, Keith,” he says. </p>
<p>“Good,” Keith says, and Shiro freezes as pale fingers curl out from under the door, straining to reach what lies beyond it. “Where are you, alpha?” Keith whimpers, the lucidity slipping from his voice once more.</p>
<p>“Hush,” Shiro whispers, and reaches out, metal fingers covering Keith’s. The omega jolts at the chill of the steel, and then his fingers curl, grasping tight to Shiro’s as best they can through the narrow space. “It’s alright, Keith.”</p>
<p>Keith doesn’t reply with words, but with a low, relieved croon, the sound echoing down the hall and through Shiro’s mind for a long time after the omega falls quiet in sleep.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Shiro, for both of their sakes, does not stay for the entirety of Keith’s heat. He returns to his pacing, ignoring Acxa’s watchful eye and especially ignoring the messenger Lotor sends with well wishes for Keith. He barely remembers to dress himself properly, and spends hours searching before forcing to admit he’s misplaced his favorite cravat, his best one – lavender silk, likely lost in his constant preoccupation. There’s just something that’s been bothering Shiro, and it’s on the thirteenth time he checks on Keith on the fifth day that he realizes – Keith didn’t smell like roses at all.</p>
<p>He’s not using Lotor’s perfume.</p>
<p>Shiro clings to this without really knowing if it’s anything worth clinging to. Perhaps Keith simply forgot to use it. Perhaps he was using it earlier, and it had just faded since then, consumed by the heat-scent. Or perhaps he never used it at all, because Lotor isn’t the alpha he wants.</p>
<p><em>Dangerous thoughts,</em> Shiro tells himself, and makes his third pot of tea for the day – he hasn’t been sleeping well, he has little appetite, and Acxa has informed him he looks like Death. Shiro has informed her that death may just be a mercy at this point, which she did not know how to react to, but Shiro cannot be blamed for what he says on four hours of sleep. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, the tea fails to do the trick, and a brief rest on the sofa in the parlor turns into uneasy slumber, which turns into dangerous dreams.</p>
<p>In the dream, Shiro is standing in front of a door. It’s a familiar door, but this time, it’s open – just a crack, but it’s enough. Shiro pushes on the door, gently, and it opens to him, revealing the silver moonlit wash of the room beyond. The room is dominated by a great bed, and crouched on the bed, lying in wait, is a dark-haired creature with shining indigo eyes. </p>
<p>His sharp teeth glint in the night’s brilliance as Shiro takes a step closer, and the omega croons, an unmistakable invitation. <em>Closer,</em> he begs, no, orders, and Shiro does not even think of disobeying. His pale limbs are bared, and though the curves and secret places of him remain partially shrouded in the shadows, Shiro does not need to see to know his desire, the scent of it heavy and fragrant like the loveliest fruit on the highest branch, and Shiro can do nothing but reach for it.</p>
<p>When he falls upon the bed and takes the omega into his arms, he is met with no resistance, nor with helpless pliancy. He is met with a soft, swift hurricane. Lithe legs wrap around his waist and fangs graze his cheek and when Shiro touches him, the omega snarls, throws back his head and claws Shiro ever closer. <em>Mine,</em> Keith says, fierce and forbidden in the moonlight, <em>you are mine, alpha. </em></p>
<p>Shiro wakes up soaked in sweat and painfully aroused on the sofa. </p>
<p>Acxa is standing in the parlor doorway. Her expression is, to put it lightly, unhappy. “Are you done?” she demands.</p>
<p>Shiro sits up in the most dignified way possible, considering his cock is poking into the seam of his pants. It’s a small mercy he has a long jacket. “With my nap? Yes, thank you,” Shiro replies. Her eyes narrow. He brushes down his hair and tries to remember how to breathe.</p>
<p>“If you are nearing your rut –” Acxa starts.</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro exclaims, “no, that’s not – I am not. At all.” He shudders a little. It’s possible for heats to trigger ruts prematurely, but...it rarely happens outside of mated pairs.</p>
<p>She huffs. “Then there is no excuse for your behavior,” she retorts. “Have you forgotten where your bedroom is?”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to disturb Keith,” Shiro admits. “Our rooms are not...very far apart.”</p>
<p>“You don’t want to disturb him, or you’re afraid you’ll give into his temptation of you?” Acxa asks.</p>
<p>Shiro clears his throat and rises from the sofa, propriety be damned. Acxa growls under her breath and averts her eyes. “I’m not afraid,” Shiro says. “But you smell like <em>you</em> are.”</p>
<p>Acxa’s growl intensifies. “Do not<em> smell me, </em>Shirogane,” she hisses, and hurries off, deeper into the house.</p>
<p>But thankfully for Acxa, all Shiro can smell is Keith. </p>
<p>In the end, he resolves to go outside instead, and sits in the garden until the smell of the blooming trees chases away the lingering scent of the dream, but not the sensation of Keith’s nails cutting into him. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>By the time Keith’s heat is over, they are both exhausted, though Keith has most definitely gotten the worse end of it. </p>
<p>He greets Shiro stiffly over tea, his presence utterly unexpected as he pads into the kitchen on silent feet, a thick robe loosely tied at his waist, his hair a half-combed disaster and his eyes bleary slits under furrowed brows. Shiro pauses, cup halfway to his lips, and slowly sets it down. “Keith,” he starts, “should you be out of –”</p>
<p>“Don’t,” Keith warns, shuffling over to the teapot and snatching up a spare cup, “speak.”</p>
<p>Shiro clears his throat. “Right. Apologies.” He sips his tea, still eying Keith over the edge of the cup as the omega settles into the seat on the opposite side of the kitchen table. Shiro hates himself only slightly for noticing that Keith sits very gingerly on the very edge of the chair.</p>
<p>Keith pours himself a cup of tea – Shiro thinks he might be verbally eviscerated if he tries to pour it for him, which is fair – and drinks it in silence for several long minutes before he mutters, “Did you mean it?”</p>
<p>Shiro stiffens. He sets down his cup. “Did I mean what?”</p>
<p>Keith stares into his tea. “That you are not...upset with me.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Shiro says softly. He swallows. “Yes. Of course I meant it. Acxa mentioned it – I mean – I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to tell you <em>then,</em> but I did not want you to think you had done anything wrong, Keith.”</p>
<p>Keith’s brow furrows further. “But you’ve still been avoiding me,” he says. His gaze darts up, and it’s piercing as an arrow. “Why?”</p>
<p>Shiro is pinned in place. “I...am trying to do my job,” he says.</p>
<p>“Your job.” There’s contempt in the echoed words, but something like sadness, too. “I see.” Slight shoulders slump, and his grip on the cup becomes white-knuckled. </p>
<p>Shiro resolutely does not breathe in the scent of him – he doesn’t think he can bear it, not after knowing what Acxa told him, not after knowing what she apparently thinks Keith’s scent does around Shiro. But he doesn’t have to scent Keith to know he’s upset. Shiro wets his lips. “Did you actually want to go on a picnic?” he asks.</p>
<p>Keith stills. “With you?” He tilts his head. Maybe it’s Shiro’s imagination, but there’s an almost calculating quality to it. “So you do remember that. Yes. By the river, as friends. If we are, in fact, still allowed to be friends for you to do your job, Mr. Shirogane.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s face warms, as do a few other parts. He swallows. “Yes,” he says. “A picnic...would be fine.” He awkwardly nods to Keith. “Perhaps when you’re...fully recovered.”</p>
<p>Keith scoffs quietly. “Recovered,” he sighs. “As if it is an illness.”</p>
<p>“I did not mean –”</p>
<p>“I don’t know <em>what</em> you mean,” Keith says, downing the rest of the tea and setting aside the empty cup with a loud clink before rising from his chair with stilted grace. He glances back at Shiro. “But yes, we ought to have a picnic. I wish to speak with you about – a matter of some importance.” His voice catches on the last word, and he frowns to himself, and shakes his head before leaving the kitchen and the alpha in it in confused silence.</p>
<p><em>It’s just a picnic, </em>Shiro tells himself, and wonders why his instincts are so convinced that there’s no ‘just’ about it.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It’s a beautiful day. </p>
<p>Beside the burbling brook, there’s a cool breeze curling through the green grass, and the luncheon spread before them is picked clean in no time – here, with Keith, it’s easy to imagine that things have always been like this, simple and warm and bright. Even their previous awkwardness has been more or less forgotten here, hidden away in the long late-spring grass and the rushing song of the river nearby. Shiro leans back against the tree with a content sigh, and becomes at once aware that Keith is watching him.</p>
<p>Shiro slowly turns his head to look, and sure enough, Keith is staring at him steadily, curiously – an expression which makes both uneasiness and anticipation ripple through him, but for what, he does not know. He still does not know why Keith wants him here, and the uncertainty seeps into him the longer they avoid the unknown subject at hand. </p>
<p>Though he has tried to deny it, Keith is his friend – and his charge, though he knows Keith could manage perfectly well without him, but the thought is...troubling. Something within him rebels at the very idea of Keith sleeping alone, crying out with no one to comfort him. These, Shiro knows, are dangerous thoughts, thoughts he has tried in recent weeks so hard to suppress – but so too is the thought Shiro swears he sees in indigo eyes as Keith shifts closer.</p>
<p>“What is it?” Shiro asks, praying his tone betrays none of his apprehension. “You wanted to talk about something?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Keith clears his throat, seems to weigh the pros and cons of continuing for a long and loaded moment. Then he lets out a breath. “I have been wondering,” he murmurs, “about marriage.”</p>
<p>Shiro frowns, deeply. He can’t help it. “Marriage,” he repeats. “In what sense?”</p>
<p>Keith shrugs. He shuffles forward again on the picnic blanket. “I have been wondering about <em>obligations.” </em>He wets his lips. “Of the marital sort.”</p>
<p>Shiro sucks in a breath. “Oh.”</p>
<p>Keith furrows his brow. “That’s all? Oh?”</p>
<p>“What do you want me to say?”</p>
<p>“Well,” Keith says, and stops, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “You must know something about it.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s stomach somersaults. They are entering dangerous territory, and Shiro does not know if he can escape it. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”</p>
<p>“And I’m sure you do.” Keith frowns at him. “It is very likely that Lord Lotor will ask for my hand.”</p>
<p><em>Unfortunately. </em>Shiro exhales, and does not reply. He doesn’t think he can without his voice trembling.</p>
<p>Keith shifts even closer. “I know you do not like him. But don’t think about him. I didn’t ask you to come out here today with me to talk about him. I just don’t know what to do, Shiro, and I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”</p>
<p>Shiro is a bastion of virtue and calm. He forces a smile. “It will be fine, Keith. Don’t worry about that.”</p>
<p>Keith just frowns harder. “And what if it isn’t? What if I do something wrong and he thinks less of me for it?”</p>
<p>“If he would think less of you for something like that, then he shouldn’t be your mate,” Shiro snaps. Keith draws back, startled by his tone, and Shiro’s shoulders slump. “Apologies, I –”</p>
<p>“No, you’re right,” Keith murmurs, ducking his head. “I don’t think he would...think less of me, that is. But I just – I want to know something, at least. I think it would make me feel more...secure about it all. I don’t know. I’m sorry I said anything.”</p>
<p>And now Shiro feels awful. He knows it’s a bad idea, but he says, slowly, “What sort of thing did you want to know?”</p>
<p>Keith blinks, and glances up. “I...I wanted to know how one goes about pleasuring an alpha.”</p>
<p>Shiro makes a small, strangled sound. Forget <em>dangerous</em> territory, this is <em>deadly.</em> “Keith —”</p>
<p>“Do not laugh at me,” Keith says desperately, “for it’s occurred to me that maybe I am very naïve in such matters, and I know you said not too long ago that it wasn’t too late to learn such things – but I have no one else to teach me. Do I?”</p>
<p>Shiro swallows. “I...suppose not.”</p>
<p>“Just — tell me,” Keith whispers. “That’s all. Please, Shiro.”</p>
<p>Shiro should insist that they go back to the manor and forget this conversation, but looking at Keith’s desperate expression and smelling the sweet, pleading curl of his honeyed scent which Shiro has tried to ignore for so long, Shiro finds himself unable. He leans back against the tree. “I...will say what I can,” he sighs. “Well — an alpha will want to scent you. It’s important that you invite them to, and even ask them to, because gaining an omega’s approval gives an alpha a great deal of pleasure.”</p>
<p>“Scent me,” Keith repeats. “Like you did to the omega in the brothel.”</p>
<p>Shiro colors violently. “I — I apologize for that —”</p>
<p>“Forget that,” Keith murmurs. He’s closer, too close for them to be two friends out on a picnic. Too close for Shiro to be doing his job. “So — I do this, then?” He tips his chin up, exposing the pale line of his throat, and then unbuttons his collar until Shiro stills his wrist, his breathing shallow. Keith obediently stops, watching Shiro from beneath his lashes. “Is this pleasing?” Keith asks.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro says, voice rough. “But you can’t do that to me, Keith. I’m not —”</p>
<p>“Courting me?” Keith buttons up his collar again and looks at him with a frown. “No. I suppose you’re not.”</p>
<p>Shiro is sure it’s his imagination that Keith sounds disappointed. “Anyway,” he says hastily, “part of showing them your approval is — giving yourself to them.” He can't say this last bit without wanting to retch at the thought of Keith <em>giving himself </em>to damned, undeserving Lotor. But of course, he doesn’t deserve Keith either. He’s not sure anyone does. </p>
<p>Keith’s eyes darken. “Mating, you mean.”</p>
<p>Shiro sucks in a breath. Distantly, he realizes with a jolt that Keith’s scent <em>has</em> changed, blooming like the heavy perfume of night flowers between them. “Consummation,” Shiro corrects, “yes. The mating mark isn’t always made on the wedding night.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Keith's brow furrows.</p>
<p>“Don’t rush into things,” Shiro advises, breath hitching when Keith’s thigh brushes his hip. When did he get so close? “Mating marks are — permanent. You need to be sure.”</p>
<p>“And what if I’m sure?” Keith asks. Shiro’s heart splinters. So Keith <em>has</em> thought about it, and has decided? Or has Lotor spoken to him of it, and coaxed him into the idea —</p>
<p>“Then you let him mark you,” Shiro whispers, “usually at — the end of it.”</p>
<p>Keith’s cheeks blotch with pink. “After he has —”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“— inside of me —”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro grits out, then falters, because Keith’s blossoming scent has soured a little with an undercurrent of unmistakable fear. Shiro makes a low, concerned rumble without meaning to, and reaches out for him. “Keith, what’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“Will it hurt?” Keith whispers. “I have heard that, sometimes, it is very painful, and there is blood, and —”</p>
<p>“There should be no blood,” Shiro says firmly. “If there is, then the alpha is doing it wrong, getting ahead of themselves and being selfish.” Keith relaxes a little, but his eyes are still nervous. “It may be — a little uncomfortable, at first, but that should not last.”</p>
<p>Keith’s lips part. “My heats,” he says, and Shiro stiffens, wondering how Keith could possibly manage to continue to shock him, “they’re painful, often, as I think you know. And —” His blush deepens and he looks down. “During my last heat, I tried to use the perfume Lord Lotor gave me to make it better.” Shiro’s hand curls into a fist at his side, then loosens when Keith admits softly, “But it didn’t help. I think it just made it worse, and that frightens me, because — the only thing that made it better — please forgive me Shiro, I know I shouldn’t have, but – you said my scent helped you, and so I stole one of your cravats, and —” Keith gives him a small, sheepish smile. “It helped. It — you...were the only thing that helped.” </p>
<p>Shiro’s eyes widen. “Keith —” He hasn’t the slightest idea how he’s expected to respond to this, but his body knows, and to his shame he feels his cock stir at the thought of Keith taking his best cravat, shivering with heat sickness and pressing the cloth to his nose and inhaling until — </p>
<p>Keith’s pupils dilate. “You aren’t upset with me?”</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro manages. “But you can — you can simply ask, if you should have need of — a clothing item again.”</p>
<p>“Even after I’m married?” Keith whispers.</p>
<p>“I don’t,” Shiro starts, and stops. “I don’t think an alpha would take kindly to another alpha’s scent on you.”</p>
<p>Keith’s brow furrows. “Is that why you hate Lord Lotor so much? I smell like him?”</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro retorts. “You don’t. You smell like you, Keith.”</p>
<p>“Like summer?” Keith is far too close. </p>
<p>Shiro, resolutely, does not look at his lips. “Yes…”</p>
<p>“There is something else,” Keith murmurs. “I don’t know how to kiss. Can you show me?”</p>
<p>Shiro jerks back in panic, and hurt flashes across the omega’s face; it makes every fiber of his being hurt in reply to make Keith look like that. “Keith, I could not possibly —”</p>
<p>“Could not, or won’t?” Keith snaps. “Shiro, please. Just help me in this, and I’ll never ask another improper question again. I won’t ever make you accompany me on a picnic again. I won’t make you uncomfortable ever again. I promise.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to promise that,” Shiro says, halting, well-aware he’s long since hurtled past the point of no return. “You don’t...make me uncomfortable. I – I want to help you, Keith, as much as I can.”</p>
<p>“Good,” Keith whispers. “Then show me how one kisses their husband.”</p>
<p>Shiro should not, but he does.</p>
<p>He leans in slowly, so there is no possible way for Keith to mistake his intention, and Keith holds still, until Shiro cups his jaw and murmurs, “You can touch them, too,” and Keith eagerly winds his arms around Shiro’s neck and then there is no way for Shiro to stop himself from pressing his lips to Keith’s.</p>
<p>Keith’s lips part beneath his own, and his cheek is soft and warm under Shiro’s palm and it’s everything Shiro ever imagined except it’s all a farce — Keith will never kiss him like this again, not outside of practice, practice for the alpha who will claim him —</p>
<p>Shiro deepens the kiss without meaning to, tilting his head so Keith curls closer against him, tucked close to the tree beside Shiro as his arms tighten around Shiro’s neck and he makes a small, breathy sound when they part. But they do not part for long — Keith is the one who kisses him again, hard and enthusiastic, and Shiro will not tell him that this is not a proper way for omegas to kiss, because he’s not a proper alpha, and he has never cared for those constraining customs. Besides, he swears he has felt nothing better than Keith’s soft wet tongue slipping past his lips, hesitant but gaining confidence when Shiro answers in kind, his hand slipping down to cup the back of Keith’s neck. </p>
<p>At the contact, Keith makes a low, warbling sound — a trill, Shiro realizes, and he bites back a groan, his cock now undeniably heavy in his trousers, because — Keith is singing, for him, just for him, and when he rumbles back his approval, Keith repeats the sound, now licking into his mouth and clumsily climbing half into Shiro’s lap and Shiro feels, unmistakably, through the thin seat of his riding pants a spreading wetness, and he feels it pressed briefly but surely against his swelling cock like a promise and <em>they need to stop.</em></p>
<p>Shiro breaks away hastily and holds him at arm's length when Keith tries to kiss him again. The omega is flushed and squirming and this is bad, this is very bad. So much for keeping his distance. “You don’t need any practice,” Shiro manages. “You’re doing just fine.”</p>
<p>Keith blinks owlishly at him. “I — I’m sorry,” he stammers. “That was — I did not mean to…” He glances at Shiro’s lap and then hastily away and with shame Shiro wonders if Keith felt the shape of him, an alpha incapable of controlling himself. </p>
<p>“No, the fault is mine,” Shiro replies briskly, and clears his throat, clinging to his last shred of sanity. “We — should go back to the house.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith agrees, dazed. “That — is a good idea.”</p>
<p>Keith is quiet the entire ride back, his flush not lessening, and when they return back and Keith immediately flees to his quarters with another apology, Shiro forces himself to leave the house for a long stroll, because if he were to stay indoors after that he does not think he could bear continuing to smell Keith’s scent, which clings to every inch of his house, mingled subtly but surely with Shiro’s own.</p>
<p>It’s there beside the river that Shiro realizes he was a fool to ever think he could keep his distance from Keith. There’s simply no way forward on that path. Not when he cannot stop thinking of the eager touch of Keith’s hands and lips, not when he knows with awful certainty that if Keith asked him to show him how one mates with their husband, Shiro's first instinct would be to say yes. </p>
<p>Even if that was all he ever got – a place in the shadows, in the omega’s bed but never anything more – then he would take it, with Keith. Perhaps that is the game Keith is playing at. Shiro admits to some willful obliviousness – he has written some things off as mere side-effects of Keith’s condition, or his sheltered past, or simply Keith being Keith. But now there can be little denying that Keith is, at the very least, not repulsed by him. </p>
<p>Keith sang for him. </p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t know what that means. He still isn’t a proper suitor, but...Shiro gets the sense that Lotor’s terrible secret has lost some of its sting. It’s Shiro’s secret, not his. And perhaps after that kiss, it’s no longer a secret...yet, Keith has not banished him from the manor. Keith was the one who asked him, first. There was little mistaking his own body’s reaction, and though Shiro’s first thought for himself was shame...he cannot remember smelling any disgust or anger in Keith in that moment. </p>
<p>Shiro exhales, staring out over the river. He’s been selfish, he thinks. He was so afraid of Lotor telling Keith his secret that he’s just allowed Keith to fall deeper into what is very likely the Sinclairs’ well-laid trap. No more. It’s his duty to keep Keith safe, no matter what. He has to tell Keith everything – about G.A.L.R.A., about <em>The Rosy Alchemist, </em>about Allura’s findings, about Zarkon Sinclair...all of it. He never should have left Keith out of any of it, and maybe Lotor will tell his secret, and maybe Keith will hate him for it in the end, but at least Shiro will have been honest to him about the things that matter in the meantime. </p>
<p>Lord Lotor wanted him afraid, but Shiro refuses to let himself cower any longer. So, he’ll tell Keith everything. And maybe while he’s at it, he ought to tell his secret, too, and make certain it’s told the right way, the true way, and not whichever way Lotor plans to warp it.</p>
<p>Shiro stands and starts back to the manor with purpose, walking around to the front, only to falter as he sees an unknown carriage there, unmarked. A familiar scent of cloves and cinnamon floats upon the air, and another scent, new yet not, emerges as Shiro follows it up the stairs and into the manor.</p>
<p>Keith is in the parlor, but he isn’t sitting – rather, he stands, pale and stricken, before the fireplace. He meets Shiro’s eye, his panic obvious, rolling off of him in waves. There are two other figures in the parlor – one is Kolivan, who stands beside the door and gives Shiro a nod as he enters.</p>
<p>The other is an omega woman, dressed in dark leather from head to toe, with a long violet cloak trimmed with black feathers. She smells of hibiscus and cherries and some other rich, ripe summer fruit he has no name for. She turns to Shiro, and Shiro stops short, because he knows those eyes – dark, intent indigo, under thick dark brows. </p>
<p>She blinks at him once, and says, “You must be the alpha who has kept my son alive. I am Krolia, High Bladesinger of Marmora, and we have much to discuss.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WE'RE GETTIN TO THE CLIMAX (both in the literary sense and the "they finally fuck" sense lol) BUT NOT YET..........</p>
<p>thank you for your support on this fic, it means the world - here's a more normal sized chapter for once, and more to come soon~</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They stand in the hidden room behind the bookcase together, before the blade in its safe, because apparently Keith put it right back where he found it. Shiro can’t exactly fault him for that, especially as Krolia explains its origins...and Keith’s origins.</p>
<p>The omega in question leans unhappily against the wall, gaze downturned and mouth frowning, glancing up at his mother and Kolivan as they speak, glancing occasionally to Shiro and holding his gaze for longer, with a kind of helpless frustration that leaves Shiro aching ever more powerfully to hold him, to comfort. But Shiro stays where he is; he doesn’t want to overstep. Krolia allowed him here because Keith did, but even then, Shiro thinks she could remove him in an instant if she changed her mind.</p>
<p>Acxa is not among them; Krolia forbid her from even entering Mr. Blackwood’s study, which clearly infuriated the beta. Keith had protested, but Krolia was unyielding, and though Keith had never stopped protesting, eventually Acxa stood down. Keith has stayed near to Shiro, closer to him than to his own mother, for she is a stranger as far as Keith is concerned.</p>
<p>This realization is a painful one – Shiro can’t imagine life without his own mother. Yet Keith has never had a mother, until now, and she is...a force to be reckoned with.</p>
<p>But so is Keith.</p>
<p>“Why have you come?” Keith grits out as soon as the four of them are shut up in the secrecy of the cellar – Krolia refused to speak at any length before then. “You darken my doorstep after <em>twenty years </em>of <em>nothing,</em> of silence and distance, you were <em>dead </em>for all I knew –”</p>
<p>“Your father told you I was alive, but away,” Krolia starts, calmly. “As per our agreement.”</p>
<p>“My father is dead!” Keith snarls, hands curled into fists. “And any agreement you made with him, died with him!”</p>
<p>Krolia regards him with her dark, burning eyes for a long moment. Then she sighs. “Yes,” she agrees. “It has. That is why I have come. I should have come sooner –”</p>
<p>“But you didn’t.”</p>
<p>“Your mother had duties to attend to,” Kolivan starts.</p>
<p>Keith whirls on him, teeth bared, decorum forgotten. “Duties more important than her son?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Kolivan says without missing a beat. Keith flinches, pales, goes silent. Shiro bites back the growl building in his throat, and Kolivan’s eyes slide to him in narrowed warning.</p>
<p>Krolia folds her arms. “It is more complicated than that,” she murmurs. “Of course you are important to me, Keith, but it is a long journey from Marmora to Blackwood Manor, and...I found myself forced to choose.”</p>
<p>“And you didn’t choose me,” Keith says. “You didn’t choose your family. I understand.”</p>
<p>“I have other family, too,” Krolia replies. “In Marmora.”</p>
<p>Keith stiffens. “You mean to say – was my father not – not your mate?”</p>
<p>She frowns. “You have convoluted ideas of mates, here. Your father and I were not wed, but…” She pauses, and without warning unpins the cloak at her throat, exposing an old, silvery scar of bite marks on the side of her neck, a permanent mating mark. Shiro sucks in a breath and hastily averts his gaze to the ceiling, face very red. Krolia does not seem to realize or care about the taboo. “We were mates. Are mates, I suppose – for I will never have another. But in Marmora, we Bladesingers are close. My mother is there, and my mother’s mother, and all of my family – your family – besides. Your father was an outsider, one of the few whom we let in.”</p>
<p>“My father was my only family,” Keith retorts, trembling. “Until now. You appear now, and expect me to – to what, go back to Marmora with you and become one of these Bladesingers? I don’t even know what that means!”</p>
<p>“It means,” Krolia lifts the blade from the safe, keeping its handle wrapped as she passes it carefully to Keith, “that this belongs to you. Kolivan tells me that your quintessence activated it –”</p>
<p>Keith doesn’t take the blade. “My <em>what?”</em> he says flatly.</p>
<p>“Quintessence,” Kolivan rumbles. “Think of it as a life force which runs through us all. Its power differs. Bladesingers’ quintessence is the most powerful of all, powerful enough to activate luxite, the blade’s material and the pride of Marmora, for the power of creation is held in your bodies –”</p>
<p>Keith stares at him. “Bladesingers are – your word for omegas.”</p>
<p>Krolia shakes her head. “Not all omegas,” she murmurs. “Only those with the strongest capacity for creation.”</p>
<p>“The most fertile,” Kolivan says.</p>
<p>Shiro blanches, all of the blood abruptly leaving his face. Keith opens his mouth. Closes it. Seems quite unable to form a single word. He finally settles on a strangled, “Oh?”</p>
<p>“That is an oversimplification,” Krolia says, “but yes. Yet many Bladesingers do not bear young, as the power of their quintessence is focused instead on the Blade – I did not intend to have children before meeting your father. The call of luxite is strong, and rewarding, as it is what keeps Marmora thriving and safe.”</p>
<p>“You said luxite is what this blade is made of?” Shiro manages, desperately attempting to steer the conversation away from Keith’s fertility.</p>
<p>Krolia’s gaze slides to him. “Yes,” she says. “It is an element, a type of mineral, but also an organism, of a sort. It reacts to our quintessence, so Bladesingers can shape it, control it to some degree, as with this blade.” She reaches beneath her cloak and casually unsheathes a blade that nearly matches Keith’s, except the hilt is unwrapped, and it shifts at once into a much longer, sleeker weapon in her grasp, the edges of the dark metal shimmering ever so slightly.</p>
<p>Shiro and Keith both jump. Kolivan doesn’t move a muscle, and Krolia simply turns the blade over once, twice, before sheathing it again, the blade reshaping instantly as she does so.</p>
<p>“You see how it might be used as a powerful weapon,” Krolia continues, “and it can be, and it is. But it can be used for countless other purposes – to shield us, to advance us, even to heal us, or to perform feats of nature, miracles of a sort. But luxite is only found in Marmora. Thus, it is our most precious secret. Were it to be revealed, it would cause chaos. We would be invaded in an instant, conquered and enslaved, or else destroyed. A world with luxite would be quite a different one. Better, in some ways, perhaps, but…”</p>
<p>“But luxite’s power can be misused,” Kolivan mutters, “as can the power of its guardians.”</p>
<p>Krolia’s lip curls. “Yes. Once the secret of the Bladesingers was discovered, our kind would be exploited. Such is the nature of people, at least in this day and age of relentless greed and expansion. So it remains in Marmora. We guard it with our lives. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>“I<em> understand</em> that you came here not to affirm your motherhood, but to tell me of my destiny,” Keith says, “and am I also to understand, then, that if I had <em>not</em> turned out to be a Bladesinger...you would not have come?”</p>
<p>There is a moment of silence, left too long.</p>
<p>Keith’s face shutters off. “I see,” he says.</p>
<p>“Keith,” Krolia says, softer now, “I am here, also, as your mother – but as you can see, I’m not very good at that, evidently.”</p>
<p>“No,” Keith says, “no, you’re not.” He manages to keep his voice firm, but Shiro sees his lower lip tremble.</p>
<p>“Your father was a good man, I knew he would raise you well,” Krolia starts.</p>
<p>“My father wasn’t here half the time,” Keith snaps, his eyes now shining with unshed tears, “and I suppose that was thanks to you? Would he <em>ever </em>have taken me to Marmora, to see you – would he ever have told me <em>anything?”</em></p>
<p>“When you were old enough –”</p>
<p>“I don’t think I ever stopped being a child in my father’s eyes,” Keith interrupts furiously, “and for all he tried to protect me, in the end, all it did was keep me ignorant of – of all of <em>this, </em>and when he died, I was left alone, abandoned; do you understand that? Do you know how it feels to realize your father kept more things from you than he ever shared? And he did this for – for my <em>safety?”</em></p>
<p>“He was not perfect, but we were in a difficult situation, and we agreed it was for the best,” Krolia says, worry slipping into her expression for the first time, finally grasping that her son’s fury is closer to grief, and it is a thorn embedded deep.</p>
<p>“It was not <em>for the best!” </em>Keith erupts, flinging his arms up. “For now he is dead, and I am the sole heir of a fortune that I suspect rivals the Queen herself, and my father told his accountant – did not even have the decency to tell me directly – that I must marry immediately and produce another heir. Tell me, Mother: is that for the best, do you think?”</p>
<p>Krolia is quiet, gravely so. “I did not know he said you must marry and have children at once. That seems hasty. And unwise. Where did you get this information? And what do you mean he did not tell you directly? Our informants claimed that a letter was sent from him to you mere days before his death –”</p>
<p>“Oh, your <em>informants?”</em> Keith exclaims in disbelief. “What, you’re telling me you’ve been <em>spying </em>on me? Is that what Kolivan and Antok are?”</p>
<p>Kolivan opens his mouth to protest and Keith silences him with a look, which is a feat that Shiro would spend more time admiring if he weren’t so concerned by the escalating pitch of Keith’s voice and the intensifying sour distress in his scent. “Anyway, your informants were bloody wrong. There was no letter. My father sent letters to everyone except for me, apparently. Shiro even got one!” He pauses. “No offense, Shiro.”</p>
<p>“None taken,” Shiro mutters. “But, Keith...are you certain there was no letter? What if it was intercepted?”</p>
<p>“By whom?” Keith demands.</p>
<p>Krolia and Kolivan exchange looks. “Someone who wishes you harm.”</p>
<p>Keith’s eyes narrow. “What else is going on here?” he demands. “What aren’t you telling me?”</p>
<p>Krolia exhales. “Your father was very wealthy, Keith. His wealth came from Marmora, he…” She hesitates. “He invented a new way to mine luxite, one which was very profitable and beneficial to us Marmorans. In exchange, he was allowed to sell small amounts of it outside of the country – only for non-military purposes, mind you, and no one knew what exactly they were purchasing, except that it was a high-quality metal with excellent properties for usage in machinery, electrical devices, and vehicles. He amassed a considerable fortune from this, and though much of it went right back into Marmora, he put the rest into various accounts for you, for the future of the Blackwoods.”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand,” Keith mutters, “why would you let an outsider like my father do such a thing? Why was he allowed in, much less allowed to mine and sell luxite?”</p>
<p>“Because he saved my life,” Krolia says quietly. “I...became separated from my fellow Bladesingers on a mission to discover a new vein of luxite in the remote mountains. I fell ill, and found myself in a painful heat besides, and your father found me like that, and –”</p>
<p>Keith hastily holds up a hand. “You – really don’t have to say the rest.”</p>
<p>Krolia blinks, nonplussed. “You misunderstand, son. Your father did not lay a finger on me – if he had, he would have promptly been executed as soon as the Blades, our alpha scouts, found us. No – he kept me alive, Keith. And he told me of your world, here. He was kind. By the time more Blades did find us, I had decided he would be my mate, and took him back to Marmora with me.”</p>
<p>Shiro clears his throat. “And what did <em>he</em> have to say about that decision of yours?”</p>
<p>Krolia’s gaze slides to him coolly. “His other option was to starve in the mountains. He recognized that to be chosen in such a way was an honor and should be treated as such. He could have remained in Marmora, as an honored guest, perhaps even someday as one of us, but he missed his own home. He took me here, to Blackwood Manor, and you were born here. He expected me to stay, but I could not. You do not understand this about me – nor did your father.”</p>
<p>She sighs. “I asked him to return to Marmora – he said he could not. I never understood this about him. So it was that you and he remained here, though he returned, once you were old enough to be left alone. His leaving you behind distressed me, Keith. I sent people to watch over you, where I could not go – this is true. But I did so with good reason. The people who bear the symbol of the black rose – they captured you because of luxite, because of your father’s fortune, because you were the key to all of it. And when your father told me you had presented as an omega – I grew even more afraid for you –”</p>
<p>“I don’t – I don’t need your fear, I need <em>answers,”</em> Keith snaps, hands curled into fists. “You know about the people with the black rose, the ones who captured me as a child, the ones who tried to kill Shiro? Who are they?”</p>
<p>Krolia pauses. “They attacked you, Mr. Shirogane?”</p>
<p>“Yes, while he was defending me from them,” Keith says. “Answer the question. Please.”</p>
<p>She inclines her head. “Very well, though from what Kolivan tells me, the answer might alarm you. They are very near to you, these people. Dangerously close, in fact.” She reaches under her cloak and withdraws several letters, folded, without their envelopes. As she unfolds them, showing them to Keith and Shiro, Shiro’s blood runs cold. The letters are all stamped with the same black rose he recalls from the assassin’s letter, and in several of them, a familiar acronym jumps out: G.A.L.R.A.</p>
<p>Krolia nods to them. “These are secret correspondences the Blades of Marmora have intercepted in the months after your father’s death, Keith. Their motive is the same: to wed you to Lord Lotor Sinclair so he can claim the Blackwood fortune and access to Marmora. The Sinclairs were behind your kidnapping years ago, Keith, and they have not stopped trying to capture you, though their methods have changed since Zarkon Sinclair’s death – Lady Honerva and Lord Lotor prefer a more cunning approach.”</p>
<p>Keith stares at the letters, the color draining steadily from his face. “How long have you had this information?”</p>
<p>Krolia pauses. “For some time, but we had to be certain, and did not know your courtship with Lord Lotor was as advanced as it is –”</p>
<p>“And now you’ve come to tell me that – the Sinclairs were the ones who – stole me away as a child, the ones who hounded my father – you –” Keith slumps against the wall.</p>
<p>“Yes. Keith, you must not marry Lord Lotor Sinclair,” Krolia says. “He means to ruin you, in every sense of the word.”</p>
<p>Keith stares at her, his shock replaced now by a cold, desperate fury that Shiro can see gathering in his eyes, in the corners of his mouth, in the stiffness of his body. “You,” he whispers, “have no right to tell me what to do. You were never there when I needed you, and now – you swoop in at last, only to tell me that my one chance of possible happiness and safety is a sham meant to destroy me.”</p>
<p>He shakes his head and grabs the blade, left on the desk, and thrusts it towards his mother. “Take it, and get out. I never asked for any of this.” His voice breaks as he says this last word, and he turns away hastily on his heel, marching up the stairs and out of the hidden room. His scent is all cloying brambles and raw, sharp hurt. He doesn’t look at any of them as he passes, and Shiro reaches out, starting forward after him at once.</p>
<p>“Wait,” Krolia says, grabbing Shiro’s wrist, the metal one, and he stops stiffly, glancing back at her with a frown, a growl building in his throat. Kolivan steps forward with a matching growl, but Krolia shakes her head at him, and she lets go. “I don’t wish to stop you from going after him,” Krolia says quietly. “Please go after him. He needs...someone, right now, someone he trusts and knows he can rely on.” She smiles very sadly. “And that someone is not me.”</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro agrees, voice low and uncertain, “it isn’t. What is it, then?”</p>
<p>“Kolivan told me you have no love for Lord Lotor,” Krolia murmurs. “He said you have been trying to investigate him, to keep and eye on him. I thank you for that. And it’s all true, Mr. Shirogane. My son cannot marry him, or – I don’t want to think about what fate he will meet.”</p>
<p>“Nor do I,” Shiro admits. “I did not...realize the full extent of it. What would the Sinclairs do to get Keith, to get the fortune and the luxite?”</p>
<p>“Anything,” Krolia says grimly. “I believe they are desperate. Zarkon Sinclair was a greedy man, an ambitious man. Lotor Sinclair has greed and ambition, too, but he and his mother share an even more dangerous motivation – grief. You look like you know what I’m referring to.”</p>
<p>“Is it true, then?” Shiro whispers. “Can luxite bring back the dead?”</p>
<p>“Luxite can...influence quintessence,” Krolia says, “but the dead remain dead, no matter what. If it brought someone back – they would no longer be themselves. We Marmorans learned that lesson a long time ago, but I fear the Sinclairs would not even care to learn it. Lady Honerva already seeks the power of the Bladesingers with a vengeance – her people, those who bear the black rose, have already captured several of us, and if they had Keith...”</p>
<p>She shakes her head. “They would acquire an heir from him. Then they would keep him for her Bladesinger experiments, attempting to use his quintessence to bring the luxite to its fullest power. It cannot be allowed to happen, Mr. Shirogane. I would die before letting him fall into their hands.”</p>
<p>“As would I,” Shiro finds himself saying, and she looks at him keenly, as does Kolivan. Shiro clears his throat. “I mean – I don’t want anyone to die.” <em>Except for Lord Lotor,</em> he thinks. <em>Especially Lord Lotor. </em>The thought of that bastard<em> keeping</em> Keith <em>anywhere, </em>much less experimenting on him, makes Shiro’s blood boil. “But I don’t trust Lotor. I never have. I just want Keith to be safe, and happy, and I don’t think he would be either of those things with the Sinclairs, ever.”</p>
<p>“No,” Krolia agrees. She looks down. “I...do not know if he would be safe and happy in Marmora, either. I had hoped...but he does not want that life, and I cannot blame him for that. I abandoned him. It’s true. It is the greatest regret of my life that I did.”</p>
<p>“Your life isn’t over,” Shiro retorts. “There’s still time to make it right with him, or to try, at least.”</p>
<p>“Hm,” Krolia says. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.”</p>
<p>“May I go, now?” Shiro asks, eyeing Kolivan, who has moved in front of him, blocking the stairs. The other alpha looks to Krolia.</p>
<p>She nods. “Yes, of course. I apologize for keeping you from him, I…” She clears her throat. “It is clear that my son cares for you, Mr. Shirogane, and I can only hope it is more than he cares for Lord Lotor. Please, go to him...warn him. Maybe he will listen to you.”</p>
<p>Shiro goes.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He finds Keith beside the river, knees curled up to his chest, head in his hands. His fingers are buried deep into his hair, which is all askew, wild black silk strands obscuring his face. There are grass stains all over his fine satin sleeves, and the hem of his cloak is soaking wet, like he tried to wade into the river and thought better of it a few steps in.</p>
<p>Strawberry grazes nearby, and looks up with pricked ears at the approach of Shiro’s horse. Shiro lets his gelding off to graze with her, and approaches carefully, a lump in his throat just from seeing Keith this way, alone and small in the sweet summer grass beside the tumbling river.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry,” Keith says, his voice rough and wet from tears, “I haven’t drowned myself. Yet. I’m still considering it.”</p>
<p>“That isn’t funny, Keith,” Shiro says as he sits down beside the omega, leaving a polite space between them, though to do so feels wrong.</p>
<p>“It wasn’t meant to be a joke.” Keith sniffs and wipes his face, which is a mess of snot and tears. He turns away. He’s still so beautiful it hurts.</p>
<p>“Oh, Keith,” Shiro whispers.</p>
<p>“Don’t you ‘oh, Keith,’ me,” Keith mutters. “If you’re here to tell me I should listen to my mother who hasn’t been around to be my mother for my entire life, then –”</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro says. “I’m not here to tell you that.”</p>
<p>Keith swallows. He peers up at Shiro through messy hair, making no attempt to smooth it back or make himself appear any less disheveled and vulnerable. “Then what, Shiro?”</p>
<p>“You’re right,” Shiro tells him quietly, and Keith draws in a sharp, startled breath, his brow furrowing in bewilderment. “To feel betrayed, and...and abandoned. What she did wasn’t right, Keith, and what your father did...the secrets he kept...you have every right to be upset.”</p>
<p>Keith chews his lip. “But…?”</p>
<p>“But,” Shiro hedges, “she’s here now.” Keith scoffs, and Shiro reaches out, laying a hesitant hand on his knee. Keith goes stiff and still, but doesn’t move away, his expression wary, utterly uncertain. “She loves you, Keith, and she’s – she’s your family. You aren’t alone, after all. And she wants to be your mother. She wants to be there for you. Forgiveness is...hard. But you could try, Keith. You could at least try.”</p>
<p>Keith wipes his eyes again, gaze falling, downcast. “I’m not alone,” Keith whispers. “I have you, because you – you’ve been there for me more than she ever was, Shiro.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s hand falls away. He exhales, his previous convictions fading...damn all of this for being so bloody complicated. “Yes...well, that’s my job, I suppose.”</p>
<p>Keith curls further in on himself. “Why do you always do that?”</p>
<p>“Do what?”</p>
<p>“Act like it’s such a burden to be by my side,” Keith mutters. “You can – you can leave, you know. I’m not holding you captive.”</p>
<p>“What –” Shiro stares at him, shifting closer without really meaning to, just needing that nearness. “Keith...why would you ever think I’d want to leave you?”</p>
<p>“You’ve been...more distant, ever since you went to London with Lotor.” Keith hunches his shoulders miserably. “And – and you said you weren’t angry with me for stealing your cravat during my heat, but I shouldn’t have done it, and I shouldn’t have kissed you, either, I know that, and I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to leave, Shiro, I don’t know what I’d do if you did –”</p>
<p>He stops at once as Shiro grasps his hand, the one soaked in tears, and holds it safe and firm between his own palms, both gloved, though Keith’s are bare. Shiro feels slender fingers curl against his palm, trapped, but not trying to escape. He draws in an unsteady breath.</p>
<p>“I’m not leaving,” Shiro tells him, “and I’m not angry with you. I swear it. But I haven’t been entirely honest with you, about what happened in London.” Keith’s eyes widen. “I didn’t go to a brothel instead of spending my time there with Lotor. <em>Lotor</em> took me to a brothel, or perhaps <em>dragged</em> me there would be more apt. He did so under the guise of taking me out for a pint or two – he drugged my drink, Keith. I told him I did not want to be there, and he delighted in my protests. He bought –” Shiro clears his throat. “He called it a gift, but it wasn’t a gift, Keith. He paid for a prostitute for the night, for me, who...looked very much like you.”</p>
<p>Keith’s hand goes still in Shiro’s grasp. <em>“...What?”</em></p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro says, forging onward, for he knows he just has to get this over with. “It was vile of him, cruel, and he knew it. He was jealous of – my proximity to you. He threatened me, Keith. He told me he was going to be your mate and no one else could have you, and he said – if I told you any of this, as I warned I would do, he said that he would tell you that I meant to – to do you harm.” Shiro swallows.</p>
<p>With his pounding heart and sweating palm, that’s all he can say, right now, and he hopes it’s enough. Keith stares up at him, lips parted in confusion, but he has not attempted to pull his hand free, and his scent swirls around them in gentle, uncertain wisps of hazy fragrance. Shiro breathes it in as subtly as he can, though Keith looks so dazed and shocked he surely doesn’t notice.</p>
<p>Shiro bites his lip. “So I didn’t tell you. I was afraid – he said you would cast me out, believe him over me, and he told me to stay away from you. I became convinced then that he meant to do you harm, Keith...but I didn’t know what to do about it, so I met with Allura. She was trying to help – we were trying to stop him, to figure out his plot before he could hurt you. Because I decided I didn’t care if Lotor told you lies and you dismissed me from your service, it...it would have been worth it if it meant keeping you safe.”</p>
<p>Keith’s nails bite into Shiro’s palm through his glove. “Shiro,” he breathes. “I – I would have believed you. I would have believed you over him, a thousand times over, I – I don’t want to believe what my mother said about him, but every time you have warned me about Lotor...I realize maybe it seemed like I didn’t listen. Like I just kept...ignoring you and your misgivings about him.” Keith bows his head, hair hanging into his face again, utterly defeated before Shiro. “But that wasn’t it, Shiro. I just –” He exhales, hard, cutting himself off, and glances up, something hard in his gaze, now. “You’re saying...if the Sinclairs are behind the black rose, then they’re the ones who hurt you that night at the inn.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro says, unsure as to where this is going.</p>
<p>Keith’s brow lowers. “Alright,” he says.</p>
<p>“Alright?” Shiro echoes.</p>
<p>Keith inhales, exhales, and straightens up, withdrawing his hand from Shiro’s grip and pushing his hair out of his face with purpose. “Lotor has invited me to his summer masquerade,” he declares, looking towards the river, “at the Sinclair estate.” His brow lowers. “I believe he intends to propose there.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s heart splinters slowly. “Oh,” he says.</p>
<p>Keith frowns at the river. “If you truly think he wishes me ill will, that he is behind all of this, then...I believe you. Maybe we can find proof at the masquerade to indict him once and for all, or at least bare these secrets he’s been keeping.”</p>
<p>Shiro forgets how to breathe for a moment. “Really? You would just – call it all off, just like that?”</p>
<p>Keith looks back at him, and in the golden light of dusk his eyes shine with unshed tears, their source somewhere between sorrow and frustration, and perhaps something else, something unnamed. “Shiro...I don't love Lord Lotor. I know I told you myself that it was just about safety...but honestly, I just hoped – that maybe there could be a happy ending for me, somewhere in there.” He shakes his head. “But I don’t want to be Bluebeard’s bride. I trust you, Shiro, far more than I trust him – and if he tried to hurt you...to kill you…” Keith's eyes narrow. “Then we will make him pay for that, dearly.”</p>
<p>Shiro swallows, studying him, the stiff set of his shoulders and the pinched, unhappy profile. “You can still make a happy ending, Keith,” he offers, “without Lotor.”</p>
<p>Keith looks at him, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “If you say so, Shiro.”</p>
<p>They sit there for a long while beside the river, watching the sun set over the heath, and Shiro does not embrace him as his every instinct tells him to, but his shadow eclipses Keith’s curled, golden form, and Shiro tells himself that is enough. For now, at least, it is all he can bear.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for your patience! Rest assured this story has not been dropped and will for sure be finished, hopefully sooner rather than later: I am just 1 tired little writer who does occasionally need a break from time to time, &amp; this year has been A YEAR. </p>
<p>In this chapter, we got MORE PINING, PROTECTIVE SHEITHS, ~DRAMA AND ANGST~, and DARK SECRETS....coming up next, get ready for the slow burn to perhaps, possibly, maybeeee start b u r n i n g....... ;D we're almost there, guys! Thank you for your support/comments/kudos, and enjoy &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Keith is dressed to kill.</p>
<p>Looking at him, one might at first think he was still in mourning, but the accents of red and white in his extravagant attire make the aesthetic of grief give way a bit, as does the mask, black and feathered. Its edges are lined with tiny, sparkling jewels. Shiro thinks they look like raindrops.</p>
<p>Shiro is dressed far more simply, in a nice gray jacket and dark trousers, with a new lavender cravat at his throat. He wears a black domino mask, no feathers, no jewels – tonight, he must blend in, while Keith takes the spotlight.</p>
<p>It still feels far too much like giving Keith up as bait, and Shiro does not like it. Allura was similarly wary. Krolia said her son could take care of himself. Kolivan said nothing. And Keith would not budge.</p>
<p>“I will keep Lord Lotor occupied,” Keith repeats in the wan lamplight of his father’s study, where they had initially gathered for their clandestine plans. Acxa was still barred from the room, as per Krolia’s instructions – she is as unyielding as her son.</p>
<p>“Someone ought to watch your back,” Shiro mutters, pacing before the window. “You’re vulnerable alone.”</p>
<p>Keith does not look at him, but gazes steadily into the fireplace and takes a sip of tea. “I have been alone with Lord Lotor often enough before, and have survived. This will be a public event – if he wishes to take advantage, he will have an audience for any...attempted improprieties.”</p>
<p>“And if he manages to separate you from that audience?” Allura asks, worry shining in her eyes under furrowed brows. “Lord Lotor is an awfully clever man; we all know this, and we shouldn’t underestimate him.”</p>
<p>“I’m not underestimating him,” Keith retorts. “We are taking a risk, it’s true, but I am willing to take it.”</p>
<p><em>What if I’m not willing to let you?</em> Shiro doesn’t say, because it isn’t his place. But he looks at Keith haloed in the firelight, and dread settles heavy in his bones.</p>
<p>This plan of theirs will have a cost, he fears, and though he doesn’t know what it might be yet, he knows that if the cost is Keith, it cannot stand.</p>
<p>And now, weeks later, their plan is underway, and Keith is sitting beside him in the rocking carriage, staring forward, serene save for the small frown upon his lips.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Shiro asks.</p>
<p>Keith’s gloved hands tighten in his lap, slender fingers tucked close to his satin-sheathed palms. “Nervous, I suppose. I don’t know if I’m a very good actor.”</p>
<p>“Lotor will expect you to be nervous; it’s a big night,” Shiro offers. “If he catches that in your scent, he won’t be suspicious. Don’t...don’t worry, Keith.”</p>
<p>Keith swallows and exhales, brow creasing, just a little. He turns towards Shiro slightly, his eyes dark where they are shadowed by the mask’s plumage. “Shiro?”</p>
<p>Shiro leans forward – just a little. “Yes?”</p>
<p>“I – I want you to know something.” Keith’s throat works. His gaze darts away, and beneath his own left glove, Shiro’s palm sweats. “Whatever happens, whatever we find, whatever goes wrong, or...or right, tonight, I...please know that I trust you, Shiro. You are – you are most dear in my confidence, alright? I do not put that lightly. I know it has been said that I am...naive. But there is a difference between being foolish and trusting blindly, and I...well. There are not many whom I can say I trust, and you are the only one I can say I trust completely.”</p>
<p><em>“Keith,”</em> Shiro whispers. The confession was not the impossible one his silly heart had hoped for, but in some ways it affects him ever more profoundly.</p>
<p>“Don’t,” Keith says, half-pleading, “don’t say anything, Shiro. Just – I want you to know that.”</p>
<p>Shiro nods. He wets his lips and looks down at his lap. “Thank you,” he says. “It is – to have your trust is an honor, Keith.”</p>
<p>Keith makes a soft sound and looks away, and they continue onward to the Sinclair estate in taut silence.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Within twenty minutes of their arrival at Lord Lotor’s masquerade, Shiro has concluded once again that he loathes the wealthy, and that that loathing is fully justified.</p>
<p>“Oh, it isn’t that bad,” Allura tries as a waiter sweeps past with yet another tray of wine flutes and ridiculous little sandwiches. “Wouldn’t you be a bit lavish if you had money to spare?”</p>
<p>“This isn’t a <em>bit</em> lavish,” Shiro retorts, lifting his eyes skyward to the massive crystal chandelier crowning the ballroom, mostly to avoid looking at where Keith and Lotor have taken to the dancefloor as the orchestra starts up again, “this is <em>obscene.”</em></p>
<p>Allura purses her lips, eyeing a passing couple who seem to have murdered an entire species of beetle to adorn their attire with thousands of the iridescent shells. “Hm. Yes, you may have a point.”</p>
<p>“Keith doesn’t belong here,” Shiro mutters, and falters, surprised at the words that have left his own mouth. Allura glances at him, her brows knitting together. “I mean – what I mean is, Keith isn’t...like all of these people.”</p>
<p>“Keith is wealthier than most of them, by far – if not all.” Allura says this very softly, hiding the words behind her wine glass. They’re surrounded by serpents – the last thing they need is another greedy ear to overhear the news of Keith’s uncommonly vast fortune.</p>
<p>“Yes, but he isn’t…” Shiro fumbles for the words. “Inane, arrogant, and cruel.”</p>
<p>Allura raises an eyebrow, her gaze following Shiro’s to the dancing couple. “Do you think Lord Lotor is inane?”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately, no,” Shiro says. “Just arrogant and cruel.”</p>
<p>“But it seems Keith has seen something in him,” Allura points out.</p>
<p>“Has he?” Shiro hunches his shoulders and shakes his head. “He...flatters Keith, certainly. Gives him gifts and pretty compliments. Maybe he’s even made Keith feel secure. But Keith doesn’t desire him. It’s just that Lotor was the only option presented to him – or at least, the best one he could see.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Allura sips her wine. “And were there other options, then, the ones apparently <em>unseen?”</em></p>
<p>“I don’t know what you mean.” Shiro snatches a wine flute from yet another passing tray. Try as he might, he can’t look away from Keith and Lotor dancing. They drift in and out of the crowd, so that Keith looks like a dark blossom caught on a whirling breeze, swallowed up by a tide of colorful silks and feathers. It seems an ill omen, and Shiro downs the wine, setting it aside. His hand flexes.</p>
<p>“And I am quite sure you do,” Allura says primly, taking another appropriately small sip of her wine.</p>
<p>“Don’t,” Shiro says. It’s more tired than anything else.</p>
<p>Her gaze remains upon him. “What happens after this?”</p>
<p>“On the highly implausible, perhaps impossible chance that everything goes according to plan?” Shiro mutters.</p>
<p>Allura huffs. “You are<em> such </em>an<em> awful </em>pessimist, Shiro. Imagine Keith were here, right now: what would you say to <em>him, </em>when<em> he</em> asked you what the next step was, once justice has been served and all of that unpleasant business has been attended to?”</p>
<p>“I would tell him –” Shiro draws in a sharp breath. “I would tell him that he’s free, of the black rose business and of Lord Lotor, free to do as he wishes, and to be – to be happy.”</p>
<p>Allura’s expression is undeniably pitying. “Oh, Shiro,” she murmurs. “That’s very nice and all, but even with Lord Lotor out of the picture, Keith is still a young, beautiful, marriageable omega with an immense fortune and impressive estate. He will not be ‘free.’ Now, if he were as you and I – if he were an alpha, yes, I suppose he might be considered free to do as he wished. But he has instead been blessed to be of the fairer sex. And as such, he will always be coveted, pursued, perhaps even hunted.”</p>
<p>Shiro is glad he set aside his wine flute, or he would have shattered it. “Don’t speak of him that way,” he snaps. “He is not – <em>hunted, </em>like some doe for the slaughter.”</p>
<p>Allura tilts her head. “Isn’t he?” She looks towards the dancefloor. The song has ended, and with it, the partners disperse, finding new matches for the next dance...save for Lotor and Keith. The alpha lord leans close to him, close enough to edge on improper, and clasps Keith’s gloved hands in his own. It should be a tender gesture, but Shiro can only see it as the threat it is. Lotor holds him too tightly. Keith deserves gentleness and worship, not that cruel and selfish grasp.</p>
<p>Shiro turns to her. “So what is your solution, hm?” He steps close, both paranoid of being overheard and unable to face Lotor’s smug, conniving expression a moment longer. “We ought to find a new, kinder Lord Lotor to shepherd him through life, to guard and hold his fortune and estate with Keith’s best intentions in mind, and all the while trust that such a noble gentleman would never turn to greed and ambition, and would never take what is rightfully Keith’s from him?” Shiro grimaces. “You and I both know that, while the concept of an alpha as an omega’s guardian is awfully romantic in theory, it is just that: an awful theory which never works in practice.”</p>
<p>“A pessimist<em> and</em> a cynic,” Allura remarks. “Though you’re not wrong. I’m not arguing with that, Shiro – I’m as averse to the idea of Keith’s birthright and power being taken from him by an overbearing alpha as you are. But that’s simply not what I’m suggesting. He already<em> has</em> an alpha gentleman who has guarded him and his assets quite effectively, and with good, noble intentions.”</p>
<p>“Oh? Do introduce this mysterious stranger to me.”</p>
<p>“Shiro, don’t be daft. I’m talking about you.”</p>
<p>“I’m not a gentleman. Don’t mistake me for one.”</p>
<p>“You are his dear friend, his companion, his confidante!” she hisses. “He could not ask for a better alpha to stand by his side!”</p>
<p>“This is really not the place to be having this conversation,” Shiro says through his teeth, “if this conversation should <em>ever </em>be had, which I sincerely doubt, Ms. d’Chevalier.”</p>
<p>“So you would prolong both of your misery, then,” Allura retorts. “Well, if I cannot persuade you...I cannot say I didn’t make a valiant attempt!”</p>
<p>“Misery?” Shiro repeats. “He doesn’t look miserable.”</p>
<p>Keith is in fact smiling brilliantly. It may be an act, but the way it hurts Shiro’s heart is very real.</p>
<p>“Oh, stop it.” Allura elbows him. “Or the entire hall will smell the stench of your jealousy, and then we will have utterly lost the element of surprise.”</p>
<p>“I’m not,” Shiro starts, and stops before even attempting the blatant lie.</p>
<p>Allura sighs. “I know,” she murmurs, “that you are...placed in a difficult situation here, Mr. Shirogane. But you are too hard on yourself. Keith does not care for matters of birth; you said so yourself that he does not belong here, among these nobles and sycophants. So why would he care of your birth?”</p>
<p>“It is more than that,” Shiro says. “Of course it is more than that, though that is – a factor. Always.” He folds his arms, the right one creaking slightly under the coat. He winces at the faint scrape of metal on metal. “But even if I were a gentleman, Keith is young. If he is doomed to marry, then he deserves someone worthy of him. He has the means to travel the world, search far and wide, choose as he likes. He need not be saddled with the first alpha who catches his eye, for however briefly.”</p>
<p>Allura lifts her chin. “Then you admit you <em>have </em>caught his eye.”</p>
<p>Shiro suppresses a growl. Just barely. “You’re twisting my words.”</p>
<p>“Am I?” She shakes her head. “I’m trying to offer you advice, but you are nearly as stubborn as Keith.”</p>
<p>Before Shiro can reply, Allura nudges him, and they both look to the dark, elegant figure leaning near the orchestra’s conductor, flanked by an alpha who has not left her side for a single moment. <em>Krolia.</em> “That’s our cue,” Allura murmurs as the conductor nods and turns back to his orchestra, the plucky notes of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of Flowers echoing through the chamber, much to the delight of the crowd, who begins to line up once more.</p>
<p>Lotor seems eager to depart, but as per their plan, Keith’s face alights with excitement and he draws upon Lotor’s hand, bringing him back into the mass. His lips move, and Shiro can imagine him saying with bright candor, <em>This one’s my favorite.</em></p>
<p>Lotor smiles in reply, though Shiro swears the expression is forced. He’s not allowed to glower for much longer, however, because Allura is nudging him towards the stair.</p>
<p>A servant intercepts them, as expected. The beta gives them a small bow. “May I help you, my lady?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Allura says with a winning smile, “I was hoping you could direct me to the nearest balcony. I find myself wanting some fresh air, and I promised my companion here that I would show him the night sky tonight – it’s a very special occasion when one can see Jupiter and Saturn in the same night!”</p>
<p>The servant blinks. “Oh – er – right, of course, my lady,” and suggests an appropriate route while Shiro marvels at her ability to seemingly remain perfectly trustworthy while telling baldfaced lies. Once she thanks the servant, they nod awkwardly and move out of earshot, and Allura gestures for Shiro to follow. Shiro glances back and finds Lotor is still...engaged. Gritting his teeth, he follows on her heels.</p>
<p>“Alright,” she whispers, “let’s begin our search. Oh, this is so exhilarating!”</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t feel exhilarated. He feels somewhat nauseous. “This isn’t a game, Allura,” he mutters. “Be cautious, and keep a close eye out. I...don’t trust this.”</p>
<p>Allura pauses at the top of the stairs and gives him a queer look. “What do you mean? You don’t suppose we’re going to find something terrible, do you? How bad could it be?”</p>
<p>“That is a question I don’t want to know the answer to,” Shiro retorts, and joins her at the top of the stairs. Before them stretches a long hall lined with mirrors and portraiture, as well as several entirely unnecessary marble busts of various, supposedly important people. He glances down it, then back at Allura. “I’ll take the left, you take the right.”</p>
<p>“Very well,” Allura concedes. “Remember, no matter what, we all convene in the garden at the end of the hour with our findings, and then we break the news to Lord Lotor that it’s time for Keith to go home – and, hopefully, never return.”</p>
<p>The grandfather clock down the hall begins to chime as it strikes nine. They’re right on time.</p>
<p>“Yes, I remember. Good luck. Stay safe,” Shiro tells her, and starts down the left-hand path of the hall.</p>
<p>The manor is very quiet, and as they hoped, all of the servants seem to have been directed to attend to the party below. Shiro still moves slowly, purposefully, scenting the air for anything, anyone, and finding only stale dust, with a few lingering brushes of Lotor’s strong, unmistakable, foul scent. He tries every door he passes, and only a few are unlocked, which doesn’t make Lotor look any less untrustworthy.</p>
<p>Lotor’s study, however, is unlocked as it was before. Shiro had made a mental note of it the first time he found it, hoping there would be time to snoop again, and he just hopes this opportunity won’t be a wasted one. The ornate oaken door creaks open, and Shiro closes it quietly behind him, only releasing his held breath when he’s safely alone inside the large study.</p>
<p>In the nighttime, it’s transformed from the open, bright space he recalls to something almost sinister, the wide windows casting shadows of the dark trees outside, framed by the stark silver moonlight. Shiro walks through the tangled branches towards the waiting desk, avoiding eye contact with the portraits looming upon the walls. He didn’t get a chance to look through all of the desk’s contents, and he’s certain – in a way he cannot explain, with a sense far more instinctual than logical – that there are secrets tucked away in those drawers.</p>
<p>Shiro investigates quickly but thoroughly, continuously glancing at the door, the back of his neck prickling, every sense on high alert. The unlocked drawers contain nothing particularly special – more paperwork, more letters, more receipts. He studies the contents he previously found more carefully, but finds nothing new of note. There’s one drawer, however, that he keeps returning to. It’s small, wedged between two larger drawers off to the side, and it’s locked tight.</p>
<p>Shiro<em> could</em> attempt to find the key. He<em> could </em>attempt to pick the lock. But when he glances at the clock on the wall and sees the minutes ticking away, and thinks of Keith, alone with this desk’s owner, sacrificing his own comfort and safety so that they can reveal Lord Lotor for what he is...Shiro sets aside his patience for determination, and pulls on the drawer handle as hard as he can.</p>
<p>The wood creaks, protesting, and the entire desk groans as Shiro throws his entire weight back against it, bracing his metal hand on the side of the desk as an anchor point. He hears something crack in the workings of the drawer, and then with a loud <em>thunk</em> the drawer breaks free with enough force to send the whole drawer tumbling to the ground, into Shiro’s lap.</p>
<p>He freezes for a long, agonizing moment, listening with head cocked and lips parted for any encroaching sound, any scent, anything at all. Silence answers him, and at length Shiro exhales and peers down at his prize.</p>
<p>There is only a single item in the drawer, but as Shiro lifts it up gingerly between thumb and forefinger, all of the air leaves the room.</p>
<p>There’s a name on the envelope, scrawled in hauntingly familiar handwriting: <em>Keith Blackwood.</em></p>
<p>The envelope’s already been opened, the wax seal broken, and Shiro’s fingers tremble in disbelief and anger as he carefully opens it again. His stomach drops as he scans the letter with frantic eyes. Several words jump out to him, among them the Sinclairs’ names, the Marmora, and his own name. But he can’t possibly read it all here. Not only would it be an invasion of privacy – privacy that has already been invaded – but his vision swims as the implications of it settle upon him.</p>
<p>The letter is signed <em>Your father. </em>It’s in Mr. Blackwood’s hand. It’s the letter Keith never received. The letter Keith thought was never even written, the letter Krolia thought was intercepted.</p>
<p>
  <em>Lotor has had it the entire time.</em>
</p>
<p>Shiro swallows and folds the letter up again, slipping it into the envelope and tucking the envelope hastily into his coat pocket. He glances at the clock and stumbles to his feet – it’s almost time to meet with the others, and it will take some time to find his way to the garden. Perhaps he can find another room on the way...though he’s loath to risk losing this precious evidence if he’s caught.</p>
<p>Evidence seems a poor word for it: it’s Mr. Blackwood’s last words to his son. And to think, Keith thought his father had not cared enough to send a letter at all. Shiro must tell him of this, at once.</p>
<p>He hurries out of the study as quietly as he entered it, and is making his way down the halls when he turns the corner and crashes into Allura, mid-sprint. “What –!” Shiro starts, but then takes in her appearance, dread filling him at the sight of her wide eyes and the blood staining her white gloves. “Allura?” he whispers.</p>
<p>“Oh, thank god it’s you – it’s Krolia,” Allura gasps, “Shiro, she –”</p>
<p>“Show me,” Shiro says, and runs after her, down the hall and up the stairs. The smell of omega blood grows ever stronger, thick and sickening, and by the time they reach the room on the third floor where two shadows are hunched in the corner, he’s on the verge of vomiting, not just from the awful scent but from the fear and uncertainty building within him.</p>
<p>As they step into the room, an alpha growls in vicious and unmistakable warning. The shadow crumpled below the larger one starts to sit up with effort and rasps, “Kolivan, it’s just the others. Allura, you found him – good. Shirogane, come here, <em>now.”</em></p>
<p>Krolia beckons for him to come, and Allura nods, remaining behind to guard the door as Shiro dashes to Krolia’s side. Kolivan growls again as he kneels down beside her, but he smells the fear pouring off of the other alpha, and meets his eyes in understanding – he’s desperately trying to protect the wounded omega. This close, Shiro can see the cause of her state – there’s a dark red stain spreading from her side, just below her ribs, blooming over the front of her dark dress. Kolivan’s been keeping pressure on it, but she needs a doctor, and soon.</p>
<p>Krolia reaches out and takes Shiro’s hand, her grip deceptively strong. “Shirogane,” she breathes, low and urgent, “you must find Keith. We’ve lost – the element of surprise. Lotor knows – we’re here – and has probably guessed – at what we plan to do.” She winces, squeezes her eyes shut, and steels herself as she continues, “Acxa is one of Lotor’s. This…” She nods grimly to her bloodied midsection, “is her doing. Lotor had her prowling the third floor: she must have told him we were planning – something – tonight...must have been eavesdropping.”</p>
<p>“Lotor’s quarters are on the third floor,” Shiro whispers, processing everything else in a hazy blur, this one detail sharp and horrible in his mind.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Krolia says. “That’s where Lotor will take Keith. Find him. I charge you with this, Shirogane, find him, and <em>get my son out.”</em></p>
<p>“I will,” Shiro vows, and fumbles with his coat, drawing out the letter. “I found this. You were right. Keith’s father did send him a letter, but Lotor took it.”</p>
<p>Krolia takes the letter with trembling fingers and nods. “Thank you...Shiro. I will make certain – it falls into the intended hands...should something happen to you.”</p>
<p>Shiro hesitates. “I don’t know if this will be enough evidence...did you find –”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Krolia hisses. “We found – more than enough of the Sinclairs’ sins.” Her mouth twists. “Now, go. Take the path through the garden...it’s fastest. Lotor’s bedroom is in the tower.”</p>
<p>Shiro nods. “I’ll bring him back to you,” he promises, and he goes.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The summer air of the garden is not warm and inviting as it should be, but sliced through with a chill breeze as Shiro runs through the manicured hedges, fragrant fruit trees, and flowerbeds abloom with color. The sound of the masquerade is distant behind him, his own mask long-since abandoned, probably left on the bloodied rug beside Krolia.</p>
<p>Shiro’s heart pounds in his throat as his boots skid along the neat gravel path. Krolia will make it out alright, he tells himself. Kolivan and Allura can get her to safety – leaving himself and Keith to fend for themselves...they hadn’t exactly discussed that part. He shakes himself and keeps running. If he’s all Keith’s got, he refuses to let Keith down.</p>
<p>Shiro is painfully aware that he may not be enough. He wasn’t enough to escape the war unscathed, he wasn’t enough to court Keith properly, but he<em> was</em> enough for Mr. Blackwood to entrust him with his only child. Shiro runs faster. He has to be enough right now. He has to.</p>
<p>He raises his eyes to the tower Krolia pointed out earlier, and almost trips and falls as he halts at the sight of the figure in the wide window of Lord Lotor’s bedroom.</p>
<p>It’s Keith. Keith, pale and ghostlike in the moonlight, against the wine-red curtains, stripped of his fine black cloak and his feathered mask.</p>
<p>He’s arching, clawing, fists beating at the glass, and as his mouth opens Shiro swears he can hear the frantic cry. There’s a moment where indigo eyes meet his own, and Keith surges forward, throwing himself against the glass as if to break it, his face contorted in violent anguish. Then the curtains, which have been moving with Keith’s writhing, part, and Shiro sees the flash of a figure behind him, of a ringed hand grasping Keith around the waist and hauling him away from the window, back into darkness. The curtains fall closed.</p>
<p><em>“Keith!”</em> His vision goes red. The garden ends, and he throws open the doors, giving no heed to the pound of his boots on the stairs as he runs faster, faster, straining forward. It’s only when he hears voices that he forces himself to slow down, to gather his wits about him.</p>
<p>If he’s going to save Keith – which he will, he must – he needs to be smart about it. Rushing in will only doom them both. There are multiple voices, and he covers his panting mouth with his hand as he edges around the corner, peering out from the shadows. All of the voices are familiar.</p>
<p>He sees Zethrid and Ezor first, then Acxa. The two alphas were speaking to the beta, and he didn’t catch what they said, but they’re heading away now, walking down the opposite hall...perhaps to investigate the scream in the garden. Shiro swallows and narrows his eyes at Acxa, who’s standing in front of the gilded double doors which must be the entrance to Lotor’s quarters.</p>
<p>The beta reeks of nervousness, and her mouth is a thin dark slash as she paces in front of the doors. She’s not dressed for a party, but in the same dark leather and cloak as the assassin at the inn, marked with the black rose. Shiro is reaching for the blade under his cloak, a deadly stiletto Krolia kindly provided, and about to take his chances against her when the doors bang open and another figure strides out.</p>
<p>Shiro shrinks back, biting back a snarl as he does so, because it’s Lord Lotor who emerges, and he smells like Keith. Too much like Keith. Shiro has to fight every damn instinct in himself to not try to rip out Lotor’s throat right there.</p>
<p>Acxa immediately snaps to attention, only to falter, her eyes widening as she takes in Lotor’s appearance and scents him. Shiro can’t help but stare, too – Lotor looks a mess, his jacket all unbuttoned and askew, his hair a tousled disaster, and his face visibly scratched, five red lines bright across his cheek. He slams the doors shut behind him.</p>
<p>“What are you looking at?” Lotor demands. His voice has lost any of the cool, polished quality it had before. He sounds shaken, annoyed, even a little furious.</p>
<p>Acxa stiffens, still staring. “You promised – you wouldn’t hurt him,” she starts.</p>
<p>Lotor smooths his hair back and gives her a look that is more grimace than smile. “I only said I’d do that if he cooperated, and as you can see, he did not.”</p>
<p>Acxa sucks in a breath and Shiro presses his own hand harder against his mouth, his fangs biting into his palm through his glove as she whispers, “Sir...what have you done?”</p>
<p>Lotor purses his lips. “What I had to. That alpha lackey of his must have gotten into his head – Keith turned down my proposal, and we can’t have that. So I gave him a little something to persuade him.”</p>
<p>Acxa takes a step back, her voice suffused with horror as she says, “You gave him the experimental serum your mother made. To induce a heat –”</p>
<p>“Yes, well, if he doesn’t know what he wants, then this ought to make it a little clearer for him,” Lotor snaps. “He’ll be begging to be my mate after the first few hours, and that’s a generous estimate. I’ve heard serum-induced heats can be agonizing.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s teeth break skin. No. <em>No, no, no – Keith –</em></p>
<p>Acxa shakes her head and takes another step back. “I’ve done this job because I thought – you would be<em> good</em> to him –!”</p>
<p>Lotor sneers at her. “No, you’re doing this job because I’m paying you handsomely, and we both know you’d be in a poorhouse if it weren’t for the generosity of my family. Now do your job and make sure no one enters or leaves this room. I have a toast to make.” Before she can reply, he stalks off, putting on his wolfish mask as he does so, perfectly concealing the scratches which mar his visage.</p>
<p>The moment Lotor is out of sight and, Shiro can only hope, earshot, Shiro starts towards Acxa, blade drawn. “Don’t call for him, or I’ll gut you where you stand,” Shiro growls, and Acxa freezes, turning towards him, her face falling.</p>
<p>“I won’t,” she says, but reaches for her own blade at her hip. “But – I can’t let you past, Shirogane.”</p>
<p>Shiro snarls, no longer able to hold back the fury boiling over within him, the instinct screaming for him to do whatever it takes to get Keith back in his arms, safe and whole. He lunges towards her with his blade, and she stumbles back, seemingly startled by his quickness. Shiro barrels towards her, kicking out and catching her shin with his boot. Acxa hisses in pain but catches herself, and her blade darts out, an elegantly curved dagger.</p>
<p>“You betrayed him,” Shiro pants, stepping away from the arc of silver just in time.</p>
<p>Stricken, Acxa falters, and Shiro’s next hit knocks her back against the wall with a resounding thud. She rolls out of the way of his blade, sinking into a defensive stance, shaking her head. “I didn’t know this would happen,” she retorts. “The Sinclairs – I owe them, a great debt –”</p>
<p>“I don’t care what you owe them!” Shiro growls, dancing back into her space and lunging. “You owed him your loyalty; he trusted you!”</p>
<p>Pain flickers across her face, and at the same time, an unmistakable, agonized cry echoes through the hall, issuing from behind the closed doors. Acxa turns towards it, eyes wide, and Shiro strikes, seizing her arm and twisting with brute force until she gasps in pain and releases the blade, staggering away from him. “I – I’m sorry,” Acxa breathes. “I didn’t know this would happen, he promised –” Her voice breaks.</p>
<p>There’s another cry, and they both flinch. Shiro bares his teeth, because they are so far beyond decorum – if Lotor wants to be beastly, then Shiro can play that fucking game.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Acxa whispers again.</p>
<p>“You can apologize to Keith later – if he ever lets you near him again.” He kicks her dagger away, and she stares at him before turning on her heel and fleeing down the other hall.</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t wait to see if she returns with backup. He runs to the doors, throwing them open – even if they were locked, he would have opened them if he had to use a bloody battering ram to do it.</p>
<p>Lotor’s quarters look as if a hurricane has ravaged them.</p>
<p>Beyond the relatively neat antechamber lies the bedroom proper, and everything that can be smashed is, the oil lamp extinguished, a trunk of clothes upended, precious vases and jewelry scattered across the floor, sheets and blankets torn from the canopied bed and pillows tossed everywhere, feathers torn out of them...but Shiro only has eyes for the figure slumped against the window, one hand pressed to the glass, fingers limply curling.</p>
<p>“Keith,” Shiro whispers, starting forward, rage bubbling up as the scent of the room hits him with the force of a tidal wave. It’s heat, yes, but there’s something <em>wrong</em> about it – sickly sweet to the point of unnatural. The heat-scent is all mixed up with Keith’s distress and fear and anger, souring it, warping it almost beyond recognition. The result is so overwhelming and upsetting that tears prick Shiro’s eyes.</p>
<p>The figure curled before the window turns at once, tense and fearful, the bitter scent of his fear spiking before Keith says in a small, disbelieving voice, <em>“Shiro?”</em></p>
<p>“Keith,” Shiro says, choked. “It’s me – I’m here – we’re going to get you out, alright?”</p>
<p>“Shiro,” Keith repeats in a low, half-sobbed moan, “Shiro –” And then he’s struggling to his feet, tripping over them as he lurches towards Shiro. Shiro sees the moment he stumbles and lunges forward, catching Keith in his arms before he can fall. He starts to pull away, not wanting to overstep, to take advantage in any way – that’s the last thing Keith needs right now – but Keith whimpers and folds into him, shaking his head, shaking hard all over, hands curling into Shiro’s coat as he presses his face to Shiro’s chest.</p>
<p>“You came,” he gasps, and when he looks up his face is open and vulnerable, tearstained, and there are bruises on his throat and on the side of his jaw and when Shiro’s hand covers them without even meaning to, Keith shudders and leans into the touch. “I thought – when I saw you in the garden – I didn’t know if it was real.” He shudders again, eyes closing, breath hitching on a sob.</p>
<p>“It’s real,” Shiro tells him, unsure how much of a comfort that is. He starts walking Keith to the door, hands never leaving him. “Keith – did he – did Lotor hurt you?”</p>
<p>Keith lets out a shaky breath. “Tried,” he says shortly, eyes darting away. “I — put up a fight. He didn’t like that.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Keith,” Shiro whispers, both relieved in some small measure and fuming at the thought of Keith trapped here with Lotor, uncertain if anyone would come to his aid.</p>
<p>“I don’t know how much fight I have left in me,” Keith admits, hair falling into his flushed face, chest rising and falling unevenly.</p>
<p>“We’ll figure this out,” Shiro promises him. “Alright? It’s going to be alright, Keith.”</p>
<p>Keith looks up at him and gives a small nod, biting his lip before doubling over and clutching at his middle with a gasping whine. “Ah — it hurts, it’s — worse, now —”</p>
<p>“Time to leave,” Shiro says, struggling not to breathe through his nose as he says it, because the heat scent is stronger, and the bitterness is fading, though the cloying sweetness remains.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith agrees, swaying slightly. “Nngh...everything is so warm…” He starts to tug thoughtlessly at the laces on his shirt.</p>
<p>“Wait, not here,” Shiro manages, stilling his hands. Keith looks up at him with increasingly hazy eyes, but nods, arms falling limp to his sides.</p>
<p>He’s still fully clothed — a definite mercy for them both — but it’s clear that there were attempts to disrobe him, judging by the few buttons undone and the lack of gloves and shoes. Shiro finds his cloak on the floor and drapes it over his shoulders, and then his mask. Keith twitches unhappily at the scratchy feathers but doesn’t protest.</p>
<p>As Shiro guides him towards the door, Keith slumping into his side but able to limp slowly on his own, Keith mumbles, “You were right, Shiro. About Lotor – about this being a bad idea – I should’ve...should’ve listened, but I just – I wanted to be useful, I wanted to – to help –” His voice sounds so hollow, so miserable and afraid and frustrated, that all Shiro can do is hold him closer.</p>
<p>“It’s not your fault, Keith,” Shiro says fiercely. “None of this is. You did help. We found – what we needed to. This never should have happened to you – it’s my fault for not getting to you sooner.”</p>
<p>Keith ducks his head. “I don’t know why I doubted you,” he whispers. “Take us home, Shiro.”</p>
<p>The heavy doors swing open as they exit, but they’re greeted with a most unwelcome sight. Zethrid and Ezor stand there, exchanging looks and lunging for Keith at once. Shiro snarls, struggling to keep ahold of him, but Zethrid tears Keith away, the omega writhing and crying out in loud distress. “Let go of him!” Shiro gasps, but Ezor slams him against the wall before he can draw his blade on Zethrid.</p>
<p>Zethrid now holds Keith by the scruff, her lips curling and brow low as she glances down at him, then back at Shiro. She nods to Ezor. “Lotor said we can get rid of that one. He had his chance to be an asset; now he’s just more trouble than he’s worth.”</p>
<p>Shiro snarls and bucks against Ezor, jamming his knee into her gut, but her grip holds fast. She may be lithe, but she’s tall and leanly muscled, stronger than she looks. “What was your plan?” she needles, leaning in close, baring her own teeth as Shiro growls in her face. “Save the Blackwood heir and take him for yourself? Most improper; we can’t have that.”</p>
<p>There’s a sharp <em>schhnick </em>of a blade drawn from its sheath, and Shiro fights against her in earnest, scrabbling for his own blade, punching her squarely in the ribs with his metal hand. She gasps upon impact, then huffs and catches his wrist before he can try again, pinning him back against the wall. “I’ll be sure to do a better job of finding vital organs than our other unlucky compatriot, hm?” she tells him, and Shiro sees metal flash in the candlelight.</p>
<p>The blade’s path is stopped short by a wild, wrathful sound which echoes through the dim hall as Keith rips free of Zethrid’s languid grasp, kicking and snarling, letting out another furious cry as he leaps towards Ezor, hands outstretched. It takes Shiro a moment to realize the sounds came from Keith, and even then, he doesn’t understand the sudden change that’s overtaken the omega, who has in an instant gone from dazed and delicate to rage incarnate.</p>
<p>Shiro blinks in utter bewilderment as the omega’s nails rake across Ezor’s exposed flesh, across her neck, her face, her brow, slashing over and over as if he has grown claws instead of the neatly trimmed little half-moons Shiro remembers. Keith grasps Ezor’s throat and yanks her backwards, and the shocked alpha staggers away from Shiro, releasing him enough for Keith to shove her the rest of the way back, hissing and putting himself between her and Shiro.</p>
<p><em>“Don’t touch him,”</em> Keith growls.</p>
<p>Zethrid’s wide eyes dart to Ezor, who’s clutching her scratched and bruised neck, and she stalks forward. “You impudent brat,” she growls back, and reaches for her own blade.</p>
<p>She’s stopped by another blade flying through the air. It buries itself in her palm and she drops her own weapon, howling in pain. Acxa steps out from the shadows and fixes Shiro with a grim look. “Run,” she says, and throws another blade at Zethrid.</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice. Keith turns to him, clutching at his arm with an intensity Shiro was unprepared for. Instead of words, Shiro is met with a low whine, yet he somehow knows its exact meaning. “Yes,” Shiro whispers, “I’ve got you.” He edges away from the wall, kicking Ezor’s blade away as she makes a dash for it, and lifts Keith up into his arms.</p>
<p>He doesn’t wait to test his strength against Ezor’s again or see if Zethrid’s sickening punches make contact with their target. He just gathers Keith close and runs.</p>
<p>Keith whines again, louder, winding his arms around Shiro’s neck and panting harshly against his throat. “Alpha,” he whispers, and Shiro grits his teeth, focusing on the weight of Keith in his arms, in the reality of him, alive and whole, to avoid focusing on the scent spilling out from Keith’s trembling form and its accompanying spreading wetness under Shiro’s palm.</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t know how he finds his way through the maze-like halls and back out into the garden. As soon as the cool night air hits them, Keith whimpers, curling tighter in Shiro’s embrace. “Hurts...where are we – <em>Shiro –”</em></p>
<p>“Hush,” Shiro whispers, “we’re going home, alright?”</p>
<p>Keith shudders, nosing deeper into Shiro’s cravat, trying desperately to find bare skin. “I can still – smell him,” he gasps. “He’s still here – he’s going to hurt you –”</p>
<p>“I won’t let that happen.” Shiro hopes he sounds more certain than he feels. He hurries through the hedges, eyeing the stone wall – too high to scale with Keith in his arms.</p>
<p>Then he sees the figure approaching, and freezes, a low growl building in his throat. Keith squirms in discontent, whining again, starting to lift his head. Shiro takes a step back, teeth bared. The figure steps into the moonlight, and the familiar fragrance of vanilla and cocoa drifts towards them. Shiro could cry with relief. “Allura?”</p>
<p>Allura starts forward. “Shiro! You’ve found him – oh, dear, is he –” She stops short as the heat-scent hits her, and she meets Shiro’s eyes with horror. “What has Lord Lotor done?”</p>
<p>“Nevermind that,” Shiro snaps, “will you help me get Keith out of here?” He nods to the wall. “We could use a boost. I don’t – I don’t want to leave through the ballroom, if Lotor’s there.”</p>
<p>Allura nods. “Yes – of course, of course. Is he –”</p>
<p>Keith lifts his head and looks at her, unfocused. “I’m alright,” he manages. “Just – warm. And – everything...aches.”</p>
<p>“I see,” Allura whispers. “Well...this explains the vials Krolia and Kolivan found. Experimental serums...awful stuff. But it’s enough to indict Lotor. Heat inducers, and anything of that sort, are highly illegal…and there was more that I found in my own search, Shiro: forged marriage documents, and letters explaining that they were to be used if Keith –” She exhales. “If Keith refused the proposal.”</p>
<p>Shiro swears loudly and Keith flinches. Both alphas wince. “Shh, shh, I’m sorry, Keith,” Shiro sighs. A flicker of movement catches the corner of his eye and his head jerks towards it, on high alert, but it’s only some nightbird, an owl or some such. But they’re lingering too long, nonetheless.</p>
<p>“Come, let’s get you two out of this place,” Allura says, and goes to the wall with Shiro. It takes some trial and error, but they manage to find a way to get Shiro up and Keith over soon after. The wall is just high enough that Shiro can see her eyes over it. Keith shifts restlessly in his arms, whining almost constantly now.</p>
<p>“Will Krolia be alright?” Shiro asks.</p>
<p>Allura hesitates. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Kolivan has taken her to a doctor – I said I’d go to the authorities to see about apprehending Lotor so that he cannot attempt to pursue Keith any further, unless you were in need of aid – are you and Keith going to be alright?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro says in a rush, “yes, I’ll – I’ll keep him safe, guard him through it.” <em>Easier said than done, </em>he doesn’t say.</p>
<p>“He is lucky to have you,” Allura murmurs, stepping away from the wall. “And do not forget what I told you earlier, Shiro.”</p>
<p>Shiro pauses. “And what was that?”</p>
<p>“He could not ask for a better alpha by his side,” she retorts, “and to ignore that is to prolong both of your misery.”</p>
<p>Shiro flinches and looks down at Keith, but the omega has not reacted, and remains limp in his arms, shivering and feverish, his only movement continuing to nuzzle at Shiro’s covered neck.</p>
<p>“You’re a good man, Takashi Shirogane,” Allura tells him, “and a good alpha. Keith knows that, even if you don’t.”</p>
<p>“Goodnight, Ms. d’Chevalier,” Shiro whispers. It’s all he can say to something like <em>that.</em></p>
<p>She sighs and inclines her head. “Goodnight, Shiro.”</p>
<p>Shiro turns on his heel and runs all the way to the carriages, her words hanging heavy in his mind, all tangled up in the sweet scent of unwanted heat.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HERE WE GOOO considering it took them 80k+ to get here, this is probably the slowest burn I've written so far, but I hope it feels ~worth it~ (note that I have extended the story to 11 chapters instead of 10 because there's....a lot....of smut....lmao)</p>
<p>warnings for potential dubcon (they're both into it but there are heat/rut ~compulsions~) and sex pollen! GO FORTH AND ENJOY</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Shiro reaches the carriage, the carriage driver is nowhere to be found.</p>
<p>A dozen possibilities run through his head all at once – perhaps Acxa paid them off, or they indulged in too much wine and are asleep in the bushes, or maybe they simply needed to go relieve themselves – but truth be told, none of those possibilities matter right now. What matters is that they are still far too close to Lord Lotor, and Shiro’s skin prickles, his grip on Keith bordering on bruising although he tries, desperately, to gentle his touch. Shiro must spirit Keith away, with haste, and if they do not have a carriage, he will just have to make do.</p>
<p>Keith whimpers and squirms inside the carriage as Shiro lays him down upon the seat with a hushed promise that this will only take a moment. It takes more than a few moments as Shiro turns to the horses, fumbling with their harnesses, the numerous buckles and straps made all the more difficult to figure out when Keith is softly keening for him just out of reach.</p>
<p>At length, however, Shiro does manage to get the larger of the two carriage horses free, taking the gray-dappled gelding by the reins and leading the snorting horse over. There’s no saddle, but Shiro is a farm boy at heart: he’ll make do.</p>
<p>“What’s happening?” Keith mumbles as Shiro lifts him up, coaxing him to sit atop the horse and slump over its neck before Shiro hastily swings himself up onto its back after Keith, and takes ahold of the reins. “Are we...going...away?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Keith,” Shiro says, biting his lip hard as the omega half-crumples back against him with a little huff of what sounds like relief. The curve of Keith’s back presses along Shiro’s front, and Shiro suspects this would be more comfortable for the omega side-saddle, but he can’t risk Keith falling off. “Hold on, tight. We’ll be home soon. Very soon.”</p>
<p>“Soon,” Keith whispers, blinking, and his fingers curl securely into the horse’s dark mane.</p>
<p>Shiro’s body curls protectively forward, shielding him as he urges the horse into a smooth canter followed by a full gallop. Keith sucks in a sharp, pained breath at the sudden harsh, rollicking movement, but he squeezes his eyes shut and his thighs tighter around the horse, and Shiro tucks himself closer, hoping that the contact might distract Keith, even soothe him.</p>
<p>Shiro doesn’t dare look back at the estate, and draws them slightly off the main road, over the heaths, the night sky dark and clouded above them, seemingly heavy with rain. <em>It would be just our luck, </em>Shiro thinks, just before the sky opens up, mere minutes into their ride.</p>
<p>Keith shudders and clings tighter to the horse’s mane as the rain begins to fall around them, turning the earth muddy and the summer air thick with mist before too long. Shiro urges the horse onwards, its hooves kicking up the fresh mud, splattering its long white legs and heaving flanks. The mud dulls the polished shine of Shiro’s boots, tucked over Keith’s, attempting to hold the omega close with the clutch of his own larger body.</p>
<p>Shiro’s grip on the reins becomes white-knuckled, praying to anyone who will listen that his left hand’s strength will be enough, as the rain makes the right hand creak and stick unpleasantly. He makes a mental note to let Ryou know about this flaw in its design, if he survives this night. Perhaps he won’t let his brother know all the details of the circumstances.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how long they ride before the long drive towards Blackwood Manor is revealed amidst the creeping fog and driving rain, now coming down in thick sheets. He guides them through the green-leafed elms in silence, approaching the waiting manor house as the exhausted horse slows to an unsteady walk, mud sloughing off of its hooves with each step along the stones. Beneath Shiro, Keith is flushed and shaking, his skin both cold and burning to the touch. Both of them are soaked through to the skin.</p>
<p>Shiro leans forward, his voice tucked to the shell of Keith’s ear as he whispers, “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>The sound Keith makes is decidedly not alright. It’s a low, half-sobbed moan. “Hurts,” he gasps, “everything – <em>everything </em>– Shiro, I’m afraid –”</p>
<p>Shiro’s gut twists and he releases one hand’s grip on the reins to hold Keith close as best he can with his right hand. “I know,” he whispers back, “but I’m with you, alright? I’m not leaving. You’re not alone. I’m with you, Keith.”</p>
<p>“With me,” Keith echoes, and shudders with a strange, breathy noise. It sounds pained, but also – something else. Something Shiro cannot think about for too long.</p>
<p>The manor house is strangely dark as they approach. No servants greet them and no one comes to take the horse when Shiro dismounts and takes Keith into his arms. Shiro isn’t about to take it to the stable, and he watches the tired, confused horse amble off into the trees, seeking shelter before Shiro does the same, ducking into the manor’s quiet foyer and pulling the door shut behind them.</p>
<p>Keith blinks up at him, wet hair plastered to his face and neck, his eyelashes starshaped, all stuck together in sharp black points. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak, and Shiro hopes he’s not past the point of forming words already.</p>
<p>“There’s no one else here,” Shiro tells him, unsure how much Keith can comprehend, or cares to listen to. He peers warily down the halls, listens for a moment for any movement upstairs, but there’s not a sound. “Maybe...Acxa sent them away.”</p>
<p>“Wh…” Keith blinks, slower this time. It looks like he’s struggling to focus. He’s still fighting it, at least for now. “Why would she do that?”</p>
<p>“Don’t know,” Shiro mutters. His own mind is foggy; it’s hard to concentrate on much of anything beyond Keith. “Let’s – let’s get you dry, and warm.”</p>
<p>Keith makes a soft, assenting sound, a needy whine threaded through it, turning the innocent noise into something far less so. Shiro ignores this as best he can, taking the stairs two at a time...before he’s met by an obstacle on the landing.</p>
<p>Kosmo is on his paws in an instant, leaping up from where he’d been watchfully curled on the floor. His tail and ears stand stiff, and his yellow eyes are locked on Shiro, unblinking. His lips pull back from his teeth slightly as he sniffs the air and his gaze darts from Keith to Shiro, then back again. He pads forward, with more intent this time.</p>
<p>Shiro starts forward with an intensity that bubbles up suddenly within him, and snarls at the wolf, baring his own teeth before Kosmo can make a single move against him. The wolf shrinks back in surprise, ears pinning back and tail lowering as Shiro stalks towards him, holding Keith protectively and growling. “Go,” Shiro tells the spooked wolf, forcing himself to lower his voice, to not shout but simply speak firmly, “guard the door. Don’t let anyone in.”</p>
<p>Kosmo whines, his tail puffing out, eyes darting back to Keith, then to Shiro. Keith lifts his head, and Kosmo whines louder. “Go,” Keith orders with a weak flail of his hand, “good boy...go be a good boy, Kosmo. Guard.”</p>
<p>Kosmo huffs softly, cocking his head. The fear in his eyes fades at the sound of Keith’s voice. After a long pause, he bounds down the stairs, brushing past Shiro as quickly as possible, holding his body low and uncertain. But as Shiro watches, he slinks over to the door and plants himself there in the foyer, ears tilted forward and head raised high.</p>
<p>Satisfied with this, Shiro continues upstairs, down the hall, and then, natural as anything, he finds himself standing in Keith’s bedroom, the omega in his arms uncurling slightly with a pleased sigh at the familiar scent. “Home,” Keith whispers, and blinks up at Shiro. His voice pitches lower, softer. <em>“Home.”</em></p>
<p>Shiro swallows thickly. In Lotor’s bedroom, it was easy to ignore whatever effects Keith’s heat scent might have had on him, mixed up with Keith’s bitter fear and Lotor’s foul scent and the warped, sickly sweet tinge from the artificial, induced heat. But here...that cloying aspect hasn’t been lost completely, but the warmer, more enticing notes come through far stronger.</p>
<p>Shiro finds himself leaning closer, brushing Keith’s wet hair back from his face. Keith coos at his touch, lashes fluttering, body pliant in Shiro’s arms – far too pliant. <em>No.</em> This isn’t right; Shiro won’t prey upon this – situation. Allura had said he was a good alpha. What would a good alpha do? He wrenches his thoughts into some semblance of logical organization and clarity.</p>
<p>Keith is shivering. First point of order: take care of that.</p>
<p>Keith whines when Shiro sets him down on the ottoman at the end of the bed, but perks up again when Shiro kneels before him. His thighs start to part, but Shiro gently holds his knees, keeping them shut. His ears burn. Keith frowns at him, expression bleary-eyed and confused. “Can you undress yourself?” Shiro asks him. “Do you want me to give you some privacy?”</p>
<p>Keith tilts his head. “Privacy?” He sounds baffled by the concept, and is already fumbling with his fancy party clothes, shoving off his black cloak and struggling with the buttons and the laces of his clothes at the same time. He growls in frustration. “No – stay – <em>help me –”</em></p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” Shiro soothes, keeping his voice quiet, level, hoping Keith can’t see his hands tremble as he reaches out to assist. Keith stills as soon as Shiro begins to unbutton his lace-trimmed shirt, holding still and obedient, and somehow that’s worse than if he had kept squirming.</p>
<p>Keith’s gaze is dark and hot on him, relentless. It takes Shiro a moment to find words once Keith’s torso is bared, the shape of him pale and sweetly curving in the shadowed room, chest gracefully corseted, rising and falling rapidly. “Do you – do you want me to find your pajamas?” Shiro grits out, averting his gaze.</p>
<p>Keith coos again, but this time it’s louder, more insistent, like he’s trying to get Shiro’s attention, trying to draw Shiro back to him. “No,” Keith whispers. “Too warm.” He’s unbuttoning his pants, sliding them down lean thighs and kicking them off and away, and it takes Shiro a shocked moment to realize he’s kicked off his underclothes with them, bare now from the waist down. He tucks his knees up in a kind of false innocence, head cocked, his crossed feet barely hiding himself from view. “Help me,” he repeats, but it sounds less like a plea and far more like an order, and when he turns, shifting on the ottoman until his back is facing Shiro, the laces of the corset before him, Shiro is helpless to resist.</p>
<p>The corset must have been loosened somewhat on their ride, but it also figures that Keith doesn’t tight-lace: he doesn’t have to. His waist is slender and though his shape could not be called an hourglass, there is something indescribably pleasing about the slight, soft jut of his hipbones and the narrow, lovely taper of his waist. As the whalebone ribbing falls away from his flesh, it leaves only a few faint red marks behind. Shiro’s first instinct is to trace them with his lips; he does not do this. Keith starts to turn and Shiro averts his gaze again.</p>
<p>“I think you can manage the rest on your own,” he says, shifting away.</p>
<p>“The rest?” Keith’s brow furrows. The corset slides off fully, leaving him bare. Shiro stares very hard at the wallpaper and rises to his feet. Keith hisses, loud and frantic, the noise startling them both. “Don’t go!” Keith says, still curled up, still shivering, eyes huge.</p>
<p>“Keith, I won’t be far,” Shiro promises, “just – just outside, guarding you, as before –”</p>
<p>“But I need you<em> here,”</em> Keith gasps. “I know –” He growls again, squeezing his eyes shut, nails digging into his own legs. “I know you think – you’d be abusing me, abusing my trust, in some way, but that’s not – that’s not what this is, Shiro.” He gulps, shaking his head. “I meant what I said, in the carriage. I trust you. No matter what, I trust you.” Keith’s eyes fill with tears, and Shiro isn’t prepared for that, could <em>never</em> be prepared for <em>that. </em>“What more do you need me to say, Shiro?” he whispers. “Don’t make me beg you.”</p>
<p>Shiro draws in a sharp, shocked breath. It’s hard to think. It’s so bloody hard to think. “You don’t – you don’t have to beg, Keith, never that,” he stammers. “I serve you, remember?”</p>
<p>Keith blinks slowly. “I remember. I also remember you are my companion.”</p>
<p>“Not like that, Keith,” Shiro whispers, hardly breathing.</p>
<p>“No,” Keith says, but it doesn’t quite sound like an agreement. His mind is fogged, Shiro reminds himself, clouded by pure instinct. <em>But are instincts ever wrong?</em> a little voice in his hindbrain asks. Shiro shoves the thought away. “But – you’ll stay?”</p>
<p>Shiro can do this. He can be strong. He must be strong, for Keith. “I’ll stay.”</p>
<p>Keith relaxes at once, wiping hastily at his eyes and ducking his head. “Thank you, Shiro,” he whispers. “I – I will owe you a great debt for this, I know that, but –”</p>
<p>“Hush.” Shiro reaches out, and this time, he can’t stop himself from cupping Keith’s cheek, the omega’s scent of soft, bright surprise and cautious pleasure rolling over him in an inescapable wave. “You owe me nothing, Keith. I won’t – I won’t betray your trust.”</p>
<p>“I know you won’t,” Keith breathes, leaning into his touch, nuzzling against his palm in stilted, helpless movements.</p>
<p>He gives another sudden shudder, and Shiro is jerked back into clarity – right. He had a plan. Keith is still shivering, still wet – from the rain, just the rain, the rain’s wetness is all Shiro can allow himself to dwell on, <em>and no other kind. </em>Shiro takes off his own coat, which thankfully absorbed most of the rain, leaving his clothing bearably damp. Keith’s pupils dilate at the motion, then even moreso when Shiro fumbles for a blanket to drape over him. The omega blinks when Shiro puts the quilt around him. Shiro clears his throat. “What – what do you need, Keith?” He braces himself for the reply, praying Keith has enough soundness of mind left to give a halfway reasonable answer.</p>
<p>Keith’s nostrils flare. “Your scent,” he grits out, straining towards Shiro even as he appears to hold himself back. “It – helps. Like the cravat I stole – it made it easier – to not focus on the pain.”</p>
<p>“My scent,” Shiro repeats, and nods, stepping backwards towards the door, loath to let Keith out of his sight, but an idea forming in his mind. It seems logical, but truly, Shiro cannot tell if it actually is, or if the alpha in him has decided it is. Keith whines as he reaches for the doorknob. “I’m just – going to my room,” Shiro tells him, “to fetch a coat. A dry coat. Of mine. You can – you can wear it. It will – smell like me.” Keith starts to coo again, a promising sign. “Does that sound good?”</p>
<p>Keith blinks, head perpetually cocked, like a strange bird. A strange, beautiful little bird who is currently looking at Shiro like he wants to eat him alive. “Yes, Shiro. Good. Quickly. Come back.”</p>
<p>“I will,” Shiro vows, and ducks out of the room, practically running down the hall. He takes a moment to dry his right arm, still wet from the rain, until the creaking ceases. Shiro then tears through his own wardrobe, and when he finds a suitable coat – the one he wears every day, he notices belatedly, the one that smells strongest and deepest of himself – he can’t stop himself from unwinding his cravat from around his neck and bringing the coat’s fabric to his throat. He rubs it there for a moment or two before realizing what he’s doing and snatching it away, breathing hard, the glands on his neck surely, shamefully swollen.</p>
<p>He wants to scent Keith, but this will have to do. It’s close enough. It has to be close enough, because Shiro cannot get any closer, or there will be no returning from it. Truth be told, Shiro doesn’t know if there’s any returning from this, as it is.</p>
<p>He shakes himself and returns to the room with his coat in a hurry.</p>
<p>Shiro finds Keith on the floor, curled on his side, groaning. It looks as if he’d tried to rise from the ottoman and fell, knees giving out from under him. Coat forgotten, tossed upon the bed, Shiro runs to his side. “What is it, what’s wrong?” he frets, and when Keith looks up, his pupils have swallowed up his irises, his lips parted and face flushed bright.</p>
<p>“I need,” Keith gasps, and then groans again like he’s been punched, doubling over, clinging to Shiro, as much as he can reach.</p>
<p>“I’m here, shh…” Shiro takes the coat and wraps it around Keith. “I brought this, yes? It smells like me. Does that help?”</p>
<p>Keith shudders, and then – thankfully – accepts the offering, pulling the coat close around his bare body and turning his face into the collar with a greedy inhale and a guttural sound of apparent approval.</p>
<p>He’s less lucid than before, and that will only get worse. This ordeal is going to take a toll on Keith, no doubt, but...Shiro will help him keep his head above water as much as possible; he’s determined. Leaning his head down, lips pressed to Keith’s brow, he hums low in his throat against the omega’s soft, sweaty skin. Keith replies with a sweet coo, calmer than before.</p>
<p>“It helps,” Keith murmurs, trying to wriggle closer. Instead, Shiro stands with him, lifting Keith up and onto the bed. He can’t look directly at the omega there, but Keith seems to sense this, and immediately makes himself very difficult to ignore, yanking at the blankets and pillows around him, shoving them into a vague semblance of a nest around him. The serum seems to be affecting even his nesting instincts, because to Shiro’s knowledge, an omega in heat is focused first and foremost on making a safe, appealing nest – but Keith seems unconcerned with his vulnerability and halfhearted nesting.</p>
<p>“But I need <em>you,”</em> Keith moans. Shiro jolts as if struck, his thoughts falling away. Yes – the heat has set in fully, alright.</p>
<p>“I’ll be here,” Shiro tells him, sitting on the edge of the bed, no further, “right here.”</p>
<p>“Stay,” Keith repeats, looking up at Shiro with narrowed eyes, legs falling open, “<em>stay</em>.”</p>
<p>“None of that, Keith,” Shiro whispers. “You know we can’t. I can’t do that to you. I’m just –” He can’t finish that sentence.</p>
<p>Keith looks hopelessly confused, misery unfolding across his face. “But...but it hurts, Shiro, you can make it stop hurting – see, like this.” He starts opening the coat to show Shiro, and Shiro hastily stills his wrist. He has a monologue prepared, or perhaps another peace offering, something they can both bear when this is mercifully over and done with...but instead Keith hisses and yanks Shiro down on top of him with startling strength.</p>
<p>“Keith, no!” Shiro reproaches, lifting himself up on his elbow and shaking his head with all the resolve he has left.</p>
<p>“Why not?” Keith whines. “You don’t want me? Am I not good enough? What do I have to do? Do you want me to suck your cock? And then you can knot me –”</p>
<p><em>Oh, god</em>. “I’m not – knotting you,” Shiro manages. Keith’s face falls further and Shiro sighs, rolling off of him – although he’s still somehow ended up on the bed with Keith. Keith whines louder and claws at his shirt buttons until Shiro grabs his wrists and shakes his head, trying for an authoritative tone. “Keith. Stop.” Keith stops, but his lower lip is trembling. Shiro cups his face and Keith leans into it with a breathy sob. “You’re more than good enough. But you don’t want me like that, Keith; trust me when I say this. Do you trust me?”</p>
<p>Keith nods hastily, though there’s still a line between his brows. “Why don’t I want you like that?” he whispered plaintively.</p>
<p>Shiro’s heart aches. “You should be wed to your mate,” he says. Keith’s brows draw together further. “You should – you should be sure. You can’t be sure, right now.” Keith’s frown grows, but Shiro swears there’s a flicker of comprehension in his eyes. “And – and anyway, I would be taking advantage of you, of your trust, and I don’t ever want to do that. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>Keith bites his lip. “I...I think so,” he mumbles. “But I – it hurts so much, what do I do if you won’t help me, alpha?”</p>
<p>“Shiro,” Shiro corrects gently, stroking his hair, because he needs to touch – something. Keith shivers and nuzzles into his neck, now bared, and the feeling is all the more intense without the cravat in the way. Too intense, almost.</p>
<p>“Shiro,” Keith whispers. “Shiro, help me.<em> Please</em>.”</p>
<p>“There is no need for begging,” Shiro reminds him, although he doubts that will stop a desperate omega in heat. Keith does seem to perk up at that, though, blinking up at him with an absolute, unconditional trust that gives Shiro pause. Keith hasn’t looked at him like that before, not even when Shiro had rescued him. He’d been afraid, earlier – but now he seems...almost at ease.</p>
<p>Keith butts his head up into Shiro’s palm like an affectionate cat. “Then help me,” he purrs, snuggling closer on the bed and stroking slyly at Shiro’s chest. “Now.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s eyes narrow, and as per his earlier, questionable alpha plan, he grabs Keith around the waist. The omega gasps at the contact, then louder when Shiro rolls him over onto his other side, so that Shiro’s chest is flush against his back. Shiro is careful not to touch him anywhere indecent, or at least he tries not to – he’d forgotten that Keith’s chest must be tender, because when his palm falls upon it, Keith moans and arches into his touch, only to whine when Shiro pulls away, hand settling to lightly cup Keith’s waist instead.</p>
<p>It’s more out of necessity, an attempt to hold him in place so that he won’t keep trying to grind his ass back into Shiro’s lap. Shiro isn’t aroused by the thought of Keith’s plight, but he is sadly not immune to friction, nor heat scent. Only one of these things is escapable, currently.</p>
<p>Keith doesn’t seem to know what to think of the restrictions to his movement, squirming pitifully yet shivering in obvious anticipation. His scent spikes in distinct confusion as Shiro says, “I’m going to talk to you. Will that help?”</p>
<p>“Talk?” Keith frowns at him over his shoulder. Pouts may be a more fitting word for it. “I don’t want to talk…want you to –”</p>
<p>“I’m not knotting you,” Shiro says, harsher than he means, and Keith flinches hard. He sighs. “I’m sorry, my anger isn’t directed at you, not at all. I will not hurt you, Keith.”</p>
<p>“You won’t!” Keith chirps, wiggling his hips, mood changing abruptly. “I’m so wet, I’ve been ready, I –”</p>
<p>“No, Keith.” This rebuke is gentler, but still a rebuke, as it must be. “I am not going to touch you in any other way but this, like I am now.”</p>
<p>Keith goes very still, and lets out a dejected whimper. “Cruel Shiro.”</p>
<p>“It would be crueler to give you what you now think you want,” Shiro corrects.</p>
<p>“I do want it,” Keith insists, but when it becomes clear Shiro isn’t giving in, he bites his lip and mumbles, “You...you won’t even kiss me again?”</p>
<p>Shiro falters, heart pounding. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t, but – “Kiss you where?”</p>
<p>“My neck,” Keith says at once, “it feels so good, it feels like you are claiming me, even if you don’t want to, I can imagine, and I would like to imagine, Shiro, because you are a good alpha and you smell so so so good and –”</p>
<p>“Your neck,” Shiro says, allowing it and pushing aside his other words firmly.</p>
<p>“And my mouth,” Keith adds, pleading, staring at him over his shoulder again with large, shining eyes. “I love the way you taste, I –”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Shiro manages. It’s just a kiss. They’ve kissed before. For practice. Kisses are – forgivable. This is what he tells himself to justify it.</p>
<p>“But you can kiss me wherever you like,” Keith declares. “And leave bruises all over me and bitemarks so that everyone will know I am –”</p>
<p><em>Fuck.</em> “Keith. Enough. Let me talk. I thought you said you did not wish to.”</p>
<p>Keith bows his head back to the pillow. “Yes, alpha.”</p>
<p>“Shiro,” Shiro sighs. “Alright. I will kiss you on your neck and mouth if you ask it. But mostly, I will just be right here, with you, and I will help you with my words and scent, nothing more. You will touch yourself, and I will scent you and speak to you. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>“I think so,” Keith mumbles. “You are going to tell me what to do?”</p>
<p>“First, you are going to do what feels good for you,” Shiro murmurs back, thumb rubbing against his hip through the safe barrier of the coat. “Can you do that for me, Keith?”</p>
<p>Keith nods jerkily, and though he’s still wearing the coat there is no mistaking the jolt of his body as his fingers sink home, his toes curling and mouth falling open soundlessly. There’s a lewd squelching sound. It is uncomfortably intimate, and Shiro resists the urge to look up at the ceiling instead. He knows Keith will only be hurt by the apparent rejection.</p>
<p>“Does that feel good?” Shiro asks. Keith nods again, shakier than before. “How, uh...how many fingers?”</p>
<p>“Three,” Keith whimpers, and Shiro swears quietly. “It’s not – it’s not enough, it, it <em>hurts</em>, it’s never hurt like this before –!”</p>
<p>“Shhh, it’s alright, dear, you’re going to be alright,” Shiro promises, hoping his words aren’t empty. “Where does it hurt? Please tell me.”</p>
<p>“Everywhere,” Keith groans unhappily, and then in fragmented pleasure when he twists his fingers. “But – mostly inside. Like I’m, I’m burning, <em>ah</em>!”</p>
<p>Shiro nuzzles the nape of his neck and shushes him. “Shh, shh, don’t think about the pain. Think about me. Think about your soft, warm, perfect nest. Think about twisting your fingers deeper, and…” Shiro swallows. This is...a lot. His face is hot, though not as hot as Keith, who is surely running a fever by this point, a dangerously high one. Determination renewed by the thought of Keith’s safety, he continues on in earnest. “Spread your fingers apart, stretch yourself open. Wider.”</p>
<p>Keith moans and writhes and obeys, but Shiro cannot tell if his sounds are any less frantic and pained. “Add a finger,” he says, and Keith shudders, spine locking up for a moment as he does so. “Good, you’re so good, doing so well,” Shiro croons, and Keith’s head lolls back against his chest. Shiro’s voice tapers off – he’s crying. Not just a little, either; tears stream down his face and his lips bleed where he’s bitten them.</p>
<p>“Nnngh, please, please,” Keith sobs. “It’s getting worse.<em> It’s getting so much worse</em>. I can’t – I need –” Shiro realizes he’s struggling to get Shiro’s coat off of him, and with trepidation Shiro helps him shed it. Then there’s a naked, crying omega in his arms, and Shiro wants to cry, too, because under all that drug-induced desire and agony is <em>Keith</em>, and this is so antithetical to everything Keith is, and if Shiro hadn’t wanted to murder Lotor on sight before, he certainly does now.</p>
<p>But planning Lotor’s slow and painful death will do nothing to help Keith now, and so Shiro carefully takes him into his arms, this time face to face, because he wants to see Keith’s expressions, and also because Keith is demanding a kiss, clutching at Shiro’s face and craning his neck.</p>
<p>Shiro saves him the trouble and tilts his head down, kissing him slow and deep. Keith slumps into him, nails digging into Shiro’s skin through his shirt. A few seconds in, Keith gets impatient and starts licking into his mouth, moaning against his lips. Shiro pulls away at that, but Keith doesn’t protest, just tucks his face to Shiro’s throat and mouths there. Shiro doesn’t have the heart to stop him when it makes him so much more relaxed.</p>
<p>Sadly, his scent doesn’t end Keith’s false heat, and Keith is back to whimpering and squirming in dissatisfaction in no time. Shiro wracks his brain, hating how helpless he feels and knowing he can’t let Keith realize how scared and fumbling he actually is. He’s supposed to know what to do, but he’s never been this close to an omega so deep in heat, let alone been <em>with</em> an omega in heat, and the false heat is even more daunting.</p>
<p>“What do I do,” Keith gasps, nosing at Shiro’s shirt collar and shivering violently. “Please –”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay,” Shiro says in a rush, wrapping his arms around Keith and tugging him closer. He does know the proximity will help, at least. Keith is sweating, hair plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck, and when Shiro smooths a palm over his cheek and sweeps it out of his face, Keith sobs. “Don’t cry,” Shiro orders, and Keith sucks in a startled breath. “Put your fingers back inside of yourself for me. Slowly, this time.”</p>
<p>“Want more than fingers –”</p>
<p>Shiro exhales. “Imagine,” he urges. “Imagine it’s my cock, opening you up, filling you the way you want me to.”</p>
<p>Keith’s eyes fly wide in shock and he groans like it’s been ripped out of him, and when Shiro chances a hazy look down, he sees Keith has four fingers back inside, and his cock is leaking all over the sheets, and his skin is flushed red, belly taut and trembling. “Alpha,” he breathes, head falling back against the pillows.</p>
<p>“Can you fit your thumb inside?” Shiro whispers, stroking his hair. Keith whines uncertainly. “Don’t force it,” he adds. “Slowly, Keith.”</p>
<p>“W-why,” Keith mumbles, confused, “why would I…”</p>
<p>“Your fist will feel like my knot,” Shiro tells him, and Keith moans his name, and slides his thumb in. He’s already trying to work the rest of his hand inside, and both of them are panting, Keith ragged and desperate, Shiro shallow and suppressed. Shiro runs his palm softly up and down Keith’s side, cooing encouragement and praise, and that part at least comes naturally to him. It’s a shock when Keith comes, keening and curling up as he spills as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.</p>
<p>Shiro nuzzles at his neck and Keith clings weakly to him with the hand that’s not inside of him...alright, Shiro can’t think about <em>that</em> for any length of time. “Better,” Keith whispers, voice thin and uneven. “But it’s not…”</p>
<p>Shiro sighs. “I know, sweetheart. Just...follow the sound of my voice, alright? Don’t panic, you’re safe, Keith.” Keith nods, still so trusting and pliant in Shiro’s arms. He’s shifting restlessly, perhaps trying and failing to get his fingers deeper, breathing hot and labored against Shiro’s neck. His scent is somehow sticky, hanging in the air like humidity, unpleasant and oppressive. Shiro doesn’t know how long Keith can keep this up; he already looks wrecked.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how long he can keep this up, either. He’s already broken several of the boundaries he set for himself, but he sets new ones to make himself feel better. He can’t give Keith what he truly needs right now, but he can give – something. Anything else. Keith <em>needs him, </em>and Shiro refuses to be useless.</p>
<p>It’s more instinct than thought when Shiro’s fingers tighten in Keith’s hair. Keith falters, and then yelps when Shiro <em>pulls</em>, guiding his head back and exposing his neck. Keith pushes his chest out, hungry for contact, and Shiro drags his teeth over the column of Keith’s throat. Keith whimpers, unresisting, and sobs when Shiro’s nails scratch lightly at his scalp.</p>
<p>“Fuck me,” Keith begs, lashes fluttering, “I know you want to, I want you to, I –”</p>
<p><em>“No,” </em>Shiro growls, overwhelmed. It’s the hardest word he’s ever had to say. “Do it yourself.”</p>
<p>Keith shakes his head, and Shiro sees he’s struggling to move his fingers. “I can’t!” He sounds on the verge of tears again.</p>
<p>Shiro shushes him and murmurs, “Can you bring your leg up onto my hip, Keith? It will be easier, that way.” Keith bites his lip and does so, gasping at the better leverage, the angle allowing him to open himself wider. Resolutely, Shiro doesn’t look anywhere but Keith’s face, watching his reactions carefully – the furrow of his brow, the part of his lips, the scrunch of his nose, the glaze of his eyes. “How does that feel, now? Does it feel good?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith whispers, “good, ahh,” his hips stutter and his mouth falls open, “I wish it was you, Shiro,” he’s stroking his cock now, too, or rather thrusting abortively into his fist, and he’s already close again, and Shiro kisses his forehead softly and says, “<em>come</em>,” and Keith shudders and does, hard.</p>
<p>Thirty seconds later, he’s hard and desperate again.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Keith comes three more times before passing out in exhaustion, covered in sweat and various fluids where he’s collapsed against Shiro’s chest.</p>
<p>Shiro eyes him with worry; then looks at the clock across the room and stares – nearly two hours have passed. How long can Keith’s body sustain this awful state? Shiro fears it’s not much longer, because Keith is definitely feverish now, shivering and whimpering in his sleep while he leaks all over the sheets. Shiro carefully covers him with his coat again and rises from the bed slowly so as not to disturb him. Keith’s nose twitches in discontent, but he does not wake.</p>
<p>Shiro catches a glimpse of himself in the vanity mirror and cringes. There’s no way he can make himself look even halfway presentable, and besides, he reeks of heat and stress. Keith isn’t the only exhausted one, although Shiro’s exhaustion is more an exhaustion of willpower and sleeplessness. It’s a few hours past midnight now, and yet something keeps Shiro stubbornly awake and alert.</p>
<p>He’s debating trying to slip away to his own bed to get some rest when he catches a sharp, infuriating scent on the air, one that instantly triggers something predatory and possessive to awaken within him.</p>
<p>Downstairs, he hears Kosmo’s loud growling, and Shiro finds himself growling, too, instantly on guard. The sound makes Keith stir, and before Shiro can shush him, the omega is shifting awake, blinking in confusion and sniffing at the air when he notices Shiro’s anxious scenting.</p>
<p>“What?” Keith mumbles, struggling to sit up, languidly slumped against the pillows. He doesn’t seem to smell it, and tilts his head. His hair falls into his flushed, pillow-creased face in a way that is absurdly darling.</p>
<p>Shiro shakes himself. “There’s someone else here,” he mutters, glancing at the closed door before moving with haste to the bed. “Another alpha.”</p>
<p>Keith’s eyes narrow, and Shiro is surprised to see small, sharp teeth bared. “Who?” Keith demands.</p>
<p>“Don’t know; they’re too far away.” Shiro shakes his head. “Stay here...don’t leave this room. Hide if you must.”</p>
<p>“You’re leaving?” Keith’s voice pitches higher with alarm.</p>
<p>“Investigating,” Shiro assures, though it’s difficult to be assuring when he’s so on edge, himself. Keith’s scent beats an insistent rhythm in his mind:<em> protect, protect, protect.</em> His omega is vulnerable and there’s another alpha on the prowl, so there’s no option but to defend Keith. Wait – <em>his</em> omega? No. <em>No,</em> fuck, <em>fuck.</em></p>
<p>Keith peers at him for a long, searching moment, and then, seemingly satisfied, nods and reaches for something under his mattress. “I won’t hide,” he says, and draws the luxite blade from its hiding place. At his touch upon the now unwrapped hilt, the luxite illuminates, and this time, Shiro swears the glow is far brighter than before.</p>
<p>Shiro startles back.<em> “What</em> – has that been there the entire time?” he squawks.</p>
<p>Nonplussed, Keith nods. “Yes. It belongs to me.” His voice softens. “But I knew I wouldn’t have to use it against you.”</p>
<p>Shiro makes a choked noise. “I – I’m flattered?”</p>
<p>Before Keith can reply, Kosmo howls, and Shiro whirls on his heel towards the door with a snarl he doesn’t at all intend to make. When he glances back over his shoulder, however, Keith is holding the blade, crouched among the messy sheets – which blessedly give him some modesty – and responds with a low croon. “Go,” Keith murmurs. “Don’t get hurt, Shiro. I forbid it.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro says, more than a little dazed, and ducks out of the room, closing the door tight behind him. In the hall, he has a moment of respite from the thick scent of heat, the air here dusty and cool, but suffused with that invading, rankling scent of an intruder. Shiro straightens up, stalking down the hall and the stairs. There’s no one in the foyer, but Kosmo is pacing in front of the door, growling nonstop, fur bristling and head lowered intently, sniffing at where the door meets the floor and growling louder.</p>
<p>Shiro approaches, his own figurative hackles raised, and at his step Kosmo’s head jerks up. The wolf stares at him with glowing eyes in the dark. Shiro keeps walking towards him. “What is it, wolf?” he asks Kosmo, low and urgent. “Who’s out there?”</p>
<p>Kosmo whines, but it is frustrated, not fearful. When Shiro reaches out, Kosmo does not snap at him, but noses at his palm with a swift, anxious lick before returning to his vigilant watch, huge paws thudding over the floor. Shiro pauses, gaze finding the sharp shape of the fire poker in the parlor across the way, forming a plan of attack. His hand flexes.</p>
<p>Then a voice floats through the door, familiar and uncertain. “Shiro? Is that you?” It’s Allura. Shiro slumps against the doorframe in relief and Kosmo looks at him curiously, ears pricking.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro calls back. “It’s me.”</p>
<p>“Can you, er, open the door…?”</p>
<p>Can he? Shiro’s not certain, truth be told. He doesn’t want to let another alpha into this space, into what is effectively Keith’s territory, as well as what Shiro is valiantly struggling to not name as his own territory. It takes all the willpower he has to tell Kosmo to stay, then reach out and unlock the door, easing it open with a long creak, just a crack, just enough to see Allura standing there. There’s a horse behind her, foaming at the bit. Allura herself looks upset but determined, her usually smiling features sober.</p>
<p>Shiro’s gut twists. “What is it?” he whispers, scenting the air again without meaning to, eyes darting to and fro.</p>
<p>Allura inhales, her lips thinning. “Keith – Keith is inside, then?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Shiro says. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Is he...well?”</p>
<p>Shiro growls again. “As well as he can be, considering that serum Lotor forced upon him.”</p>
<p>“I see.” Allura pauses. “You’re not going to let me in, are you?”</p>
<p>“No,” Shiro admits. “Apologies, but no, I think – I’d prefer you to stay right where you are, Ms. d’Chevalier.”</p>
<p>“I understand,” she replies. “In fact, that may be for the best. Keep those instincts close, Shiro, for you may have need of them before the night is through.”</p>
<p>Shiro tenses. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>Allura rubs her temples. “Kolivan has taken Krolia to a doctor and is with her now, and I have taken the evidence to lawyers whom we can trust, family friends who will see to it that justice is served. However, justice often works slowly, it is the middle of the night, and the Sinclairs are – dangerous when cornered.” Her mouth twists. “I was riding back here to see if you two were alright when I was apprehended by Acxa, but she did not attack – she told me that Lord Lotor had ordered her to inform all of Blackwood Manor’s servants to go on a leave of absence after we departed for the masquerade.”</p>
<p>Shiro’s eyes widen. “Why would he want all of the servants gone?”</p>
<p>“No witnesses,” Allura says. “He knew where Keith would retreat to, should his plan fail.” She looks at Shiro grimly. “I do not think Lord Lotor cares about niceties and legalities anymore. I think he plans to come here and steal Keith away once and for all, disappear into the shadows with him before he can even be brought to trial – the Sinclairs, remember, will stop at nothing to claim the secrets and power of Marmora.”</p>
<p>“I won’t let him,” Shiro says. His blood roars in his ears and his nails bite into the doorframe. “He would <em>dare </em>to trespass into Keith’s home, to steal him away from his very bed –”</p>
<p>“Don’t forget, the Sinclairs have already done so once before,” Allura whispers. “The black rose is merciless. If they stole him away as a child, intent on grooming him to be a puppet who would serve their ends, well…”</p>
<p>“Then nothing is stopping them now,” Shiro breathes, “...except for me?”</p>
<p>“See...that’s the thing,” Allura says, her determination shining through, “it seems Keith has far more friends here from Marmora than anticipated.”</p>
<p>From behind Allura, tucked among the dark elms, Shiro suddenly sees them, then <em>smells</em> them and realizes why exactly he was so on edge – there are shadows there, dark and looming, blades glinting in the moonlight: dozens and dozens of alphas lying in wait. Predators, all of them.</p>
<p>Shiro growls in distress, eyes wide, pulse climbing, and Allura grasps his shoulder firmly as he steps instinctively forward. “Calm yourself!” she whispers. “They’re allies. They won’t let Lotor and his ilk get past them, Shiro. Krolia swore it, and they are sworn to her.”</p>
<p>Shiro swallows roughly as some of the shadows stand and turn towards the house, silent and stoic. “There are so many,” he whispers.</p>
<p>“Krolia commands their respect, and their loyalty,” Allura murmurs. “Perhaps – someday, Keith will do the same.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps.” Shiro has grown cold, from more than just the night air and the thought of Lotor encroaching on the estate. If these alphas are loyal to Krolia, they are loyal to Keith, and Keith could very well have his pick of them – fine, powerful alpha warriors who could serve him far better than Shiro ever could. It’s what Keith deserves, of course, but it stings, anyway. He shakes himself. “Thank you for...for the warning. I – should return to Keith.”</p>
<p>Allura inclines her head and turns to go. “Of course.” She hesitates, and turns back to him. “If you’ll forgive me saying so, you smell very, er, frustrated.” His face reddens. “Perhaps now is not the time to be thinking of propriety – there are many ways you could care, ah, <em>appropriately</em> for both Keith and yourself without any fear of actual consummation, you know –”</p>
<p>“Ms. d’Chevalier, <em>goodnight!” </em>Shiro splutters at her, and before she can reply, he slams the door shut the rest of the way, stumbling a few steps back and almost stomping on Kosmo. The wolf grumbles at him and nudges Shiro’s thigh hard with his nose. “Oh, what?” Shiro snaps.</p>
<p>Unimpressed and now unafraid, Kosmo whuffs and plants himself in front of the door again, glancing pointedly upstairs before staring at Shiro. “Yes, yes, I know, I’m going,” Shiro mutters, and hurries back upstairs, Allura’s comment hanging heavy in his mind. It’s true. There are – <em>ways </em>he could ease Keith’s discomfort that fall short of consummation, but would surpass what he’s done so far. But – it would be<em> wrong</em> – wouldn’t it?</p>
<p>Then again, maybe if Shiro keeps denying Keith what he’s pled so prettily for, then Keith will request the aid of one of the alphas waiting outside instead, they’re practically lining up –</p>
<p><em>God. </em>Shiro is jealous. Shiro is horribly, <em>disgustingly</em> jealous. He stomps upstairs, shaking himself. <em>Keith deserves better than you,</em> he chants in his mind, <em>and you cannot be selfish, especially right now when he is in this state; you cannot betray his trust, or you will lose him forever. He is vulnerable, he is in need of a friend, of a companion, of a guardian, and you can be that for him. Why can’t that be enough for you?</em></p>
<p>He opens the door to Keith’s bedroom and finds the omega quietly piling and arranging blankets and pillows, still holding the blade idly, humming something to himself. He seems distracted, but when Shiro enters he looks up and smiles. It’s lovely, and utterly disarming. Keith makes a questioning croon. “Are we safe?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Lotor plans to try to kidnap you from Blackwood Manor,” Shiro says, closing the door behind him, then locking it for good measure.</p>
<p>Keith freezes. His smile falls. “He – he’s come here?”</p>
<p>“Not yet,” Shiro says, going to the bed and taking Keith’s trembling hands in his own, partly covering the blade’s hilt. “That was Allura, at the door...and there are other alphas here, to protect you. Your mother sent them – they’re other Marmorans. They’ll keep Lotor away. It will be alright.” He hopes this is the truth.</p>
<p>Keith’s lips part. “Other alphas? Marmoran alphas are – here? For me?”</p>
<p>Shiro tastes bile. <em>You are a jealous bastard,</em> he scolds himself, but it doesn’t help much. “Yes,” he replies. “For you. Does that make you feel safer?”</p>
<p>Keith looks up at him, unblinking. “You make me feel safer,” he says, setting the blade aside on the bedside table in a slow, deliberate sort of way before he draws Shiro back to him. Something has shifted in his demeanor, though the heat hasn’t passed – the desperate, messy element of it seems more...calculated, now. Still desperate, but more refined.</p>
<p>Should Shiro be wary of this change in tactics? He’s unsure. He doesn’t know how it’s possible to feel wary when Keith’s arms are winding around his waist and the omega is burrowing against his bulk with a contented sigh.</p>
<p>“I’m glad to hear that, Keith,” Shiro whispers, awkwardly patting his shoulder and allowing himself to crawl fully into the nest. It feels like a trap. Shiro wants to be trapped, maybe.</p>
<p>Keith’s breath is hot even through Shiro’s shirt. He’s still wearing Shiro’s coat. He smells like Shiro. <em>Mine,</em> Shiro thinks, and almost whines aloud. “Do you like our nest?” Keith asks.</p>
<p>Our nest? <em>Ours?</em> Shiro gulps. “Your nest is – very nice, Keith. How are you, ah, feeling?”</p>
<p>Keith sighs again. “Sleepy,” he mumbles.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Shiro says. He can do sleepy. “Let’s rest, then. It’s – it’s very late. Some rest will do us good, I think, especially if...we do need to defend ourselves, later.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith agrees, and Shiro waits until the omega’s breath has evened out before he closes his own eyes, hoping he doesn’t regret it.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Shiro is jolted out of his uneasy sleep by warm breath over his cock, then the sudden, shocking heat of a tight mouth.</p>
<p>Shiro scrambles upright with a curse, eyes wide and breath coming out in a horrified rush at the sight of Keith crouched between his thighs, lashes fluttering and throat working in pleasure around Shiro’s hardening cock.</p>
<p>Shiro tries to push him away with a strangled, frantic noise, but Keith growls around him, nails digging into his flesh, and when his eyes open they glint with a warning. As Shiro looks at him, at those pretty plush lips stretched around his cock and the rising flush in Keith’s face and the sinful arch of the omega’s naked body, Shiro’s coat tossed away to join the rest of the nesting material, his objections fizzle away into confused irrelevancy.</p>
<p>The sickly-sweet scent of Keith’s induced heat surrounds him, as does something else: a thick, hot, familiar musk, and with a sense of both dull horror and mounting desperation, Shiro realizes: <em>he’s in rut.</em></p>
<p>“Fuck,” he gasps, clawing at the blankets, grabbing for Keith’s head but unable to bring himself to push the omega away as soon as he makes contact – his body won’t obey the panicked thoughts which are quickly losing clarity. Keith is clawing at his thighs, kneading them through Shiro’s pants, urging them to spread so he can settle more fully between them and suck Shiro’s cock better, deeper.</p>
<p>Keith hadn’t even bothered to take Shiro’s pants off fully; he must have unbuttoned them while Shiro was asleep, sneaky bastard. Shiro’s eyes dart to the clock on the wall – barely fifteen minutes have passed since Keith said he needed sleep. He <em>planned</em> this; he waited until Shiro was asleep and then <em>struck.</em> Maybe Shiro should be upset, but instead the thought is more blindingly hot than it has any right to be. <em>“Keith –”</em></p>
<p>Keith pulls off with a wet <em>pop, </em>his eyes dark and sweaty strands of hair hanging into his face. “Alpha,” he coos, stroking Shiro’s cock, now slippery with his spit and swelling into full hardness.</p>
<p>He rubs his soft cheek against the twitching length. It looks obscenely large in Keith’s hand, and Shiro’s cock tends to leak a lot during rut normally, but this is – something else. With every touch Keith gives him, his cock dribbles helpfully in a steady pearly stream, perfectly ready to sink into the omega before him, ready to breed –</p>
<p><em>No, no, no,</em> Shiro thinks, even as his cock twitches and Keith mouths at the head, making soft sounds of pleasure as he licks hungrily at Shiro’s leaking cock. “Keith – we can’t,” he manages, chest heaving.</p>
<p>Shiro lets out a low, helpless whine when Keith’s brow lowers in displeasure and he sits up, back on his heels, displaying his front to Shiro, so Shiro can see his flushed, sweating body lithe with muscle yet soft at the edges, can see the slight swell of his chest and the rosy peaks of his swollen nipples, can see the reddening bob of his slick-wet cock, fat where it peeks out above thick folds. There’s no averting his gaze, now. Shiro isn’t strong enough for this. He isn’t.</p>
<p>“Why <em>not,” </em>Keith demands, and there’s not even a hint of begging in his voice, now. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>Shiro swallows back a groan. “I –” He can’t think. His cock aches, hips shifting upwards, squirming, needing to fuck into something – no. Only Keith. There’s nothing else, no one else that matters. Yes. He’s Keith’s; he’s been Keith’s for longer than he cares to admit. And Keith is his. <em>Fuck, </em>Shiro needs to taste him. To smell him, to touch him, to be inside him –</p>
<p>“Yes,” he hears himself saying, and surges up, dragging Keith down on top of him.</p>
<p>Startled, the omega yelps, but doesn’t resist, squirming in confusion as instead of seizing his head for a kiss, Shiro seizes his hips and drags them towards his own face. As soon as he realizes what Shiro is doing, Keith throws back his head with a broken moan, and Shiro arranges his body to his liking before nuzzling against his sopping hole and licking over it.</p>
<p>That’s what he means to do, anyway, but Keith is already so wet and open that his tongue slides right in instead. They both moan, Keith in stammered syllables vaguely resembling his name and Shiro low and rumbling and more desperately aroused than he can ever remember being.</p>
<p>Once he’s started that, he can’t stop.</p>
<p>There’s no way. Keith tastes <em>divine, </em>summertime bursting with hazy, sticky warmth across his tongue, flooding his senses, underlain with the sweat and musk of flesh, and it’s all perfect, and it’s all for Shiro. He needs more, and licks deeper, sloppier, spreading Keith open wider with his fingers until the omega keens and pulses around his tongue, slick dripping down Shiro’s chin and jaw. Shiro growls, working him open as Keith’s thighs quiver and tighten around his head, almost to the point of pain, the omega’s hands clawing at his hair, forcing him deeper until Shiro realizes his tongue isn’t enough, and presses two fingers inside instead.</p>
<p>Above him, Keith shouts, his hole rippling around Shiro’s fingers, and Shiro spends a while just stroking into the depths of him, fascinated by the ease with which they’re welcomed in, and yet the resistance as he tries to pull them out even an inch. Keith’s body feels loath to release him, and Shiro feels much the same way, rumbling his approval when Keith’s hole opens wide around three fingers, swallowing them all at once and clamping down desperately.</p>
<p>When Shiro starts to rub at the hard swell of the omega’s cock with his thumb, Keith trembles and gasps, screaming behind his teeth when Shiro tips his head up to get at it, covering his fat little cock with his tongue and lips, sucking it into his mouth without mercy. Inside, Keith tightens and his hips rock furiously, trying to fuck himself on Shiro’s curling fingers, Keith’s cock swelling further over Shiro’s tongue as he lavishes it with attention.</p>
<p>“Stop – teasing me,” Keith gasps, trying to pull himself off and away, his hole releasing Shiro’s fingers and leaking more slick all over Shiro’s face. Shiro catches it on his tongue, giving glistening folds a few last licks before Keith is shifting back, out of his grasp, but not fully – only enough to straddle his waist, covering Shiro’s body with his own to kiss him hard and greedy.</p>
<p>Their mouths are both a mess, and Keith’s fumbling with Shiro’s shirt, ripping the buttons clean off in his eagerness to touch Shiro, skin to skin. It feels like a dream, hot and hazy; but it’s not, no dream is as good as this, as overwhelming as this. Keith yanks at his pants, shoving them down Shiro’s thighs until Shiro can kick them free, underclothes following soon after.</p>
<p>Everything just becomes infinitely <em>more </em>after that. Keith grinds himself over Shiro’s belly, slick folds painting the coarse trail of hair leading down to a dark nest of curls, from which Shiro’s cock curves up, occasionally brushing at Keith’s ass as the omega rubs off against him, almost absentmindedly.</p>
<p>Shiro growls against Keith’s lips, and feels the omega smile, briefly. His growl deepens. He understands, now. His omega is bold, demanding, and likes to have control – all good things, in his mind – but right now, Keith wants <em>him </em>to take charge. He wants Shiro to take him as they both so badly need.</p>
<p>When Shiro grabs Keith and flips them, pinning Keith firmly on his belly under Shiro’s bulk, the omega lets out a sharp whimper, and for a terrifying moment Shiro fears he’s misread the situation and gone against his omega’s wishes. But when he leans close, nuzzling into Keith’s neck with a questioning sound, Keith arches under him, glancing back over his shoulder, and Shiro sees the truth of it – his omega is <em>desperate</em> to be mated, so much so that his sounds of pleasure are nearly pained in their intensity.</p>
<p>How long has he waited for Shiro to mate him? How long has he been left alone and untouched? Shiro cannot figure out if he is the cause of this delay – after all, why would he ever deny the beautiful, perfect creature before him? – but he will make things right, now. Keith will never be alone and left wanting again.</p>
<p>Maybe he says this aloud, because Keith shudders and begs, “Shiro – <em>alpha, please </em>– I want –”</p>
<p>“I know,” Shiro promises, fitting his body to the curve of Keith’s back, both of them groaning as his cock ruts against Keith’s ass, seeking slickness and finding it on the third thrust inwards. Keith’s hole offers little resistance, but Shiro has to stop when the crown is sheathed in tightening heat, already trying to – and succeeding in – milking his cock.</p>
<p>Keith whines and presses back against him <em>hard</em> when Shiro comes immediately, flooding his hole with even greater heat, and the sound his omega makes is so perfect that his cock twitches again, coaxed to slide in further by the rippling tightness of Keith’s hole.</p>
<p>As it is not fully buried, even the tight clench of Keith’s body isn’t enough to stop some from escaping, and Shiro watches breathlessly as his cum leaks out from sticky folds, dripping down Keith’s inner thighs and staining the sheets. Keith is begging again, for more, more, and Shiro wastes no time in shoving his cock in up to the hilt, knowing Keith can take it, grinning with fierce pride as the omega jolts and cries out before crumpling to the bed in pleasure. His hole grips the alpha’s cock fast, Shiro’s cock still hard and full, only just getting started.</p>
<p>His seed and Keith’s slick make the way even easier as Shiro fucks into him, reaching under Keith to rub at his cock, which remains hard and fat and irresistible just above where Shiro’s cock enters him, where he’s stretched wide and needy. Keith lets Shiro use him like that, lets Shiro gather him up into his arms and then into his lap as he sits up, settling back on his heels so he can fuck up into Keith and mouth at his neck, licking over where his scent spills out bright and warm and hazy.</p>
<p>Shiro wants to bite, wants to mark him there – wonders why he hasn’t done so already – but something stops him. Later, he thinks – he must have just been waiting for the right time. Soon.</p>
<p>When Shiro bounces Keith in his lap and covers Keith’s chest with his hands, Keith moans, a deliciously indulgent sound. He melts back into Shiro, whining as Shiro plucks at his nipples. Shiro idly imagines his chest fat and yielding, fertile and full, yet is just as delighted by it like this, small enough to fit in each palm, kneading and squeezing until Keith tightens further around him and slick covers his inner thighs anew.</p>
<p>“Perfect,” Shiro tells him, nipping at Keith’s ear, the omega’s head lolling to the side, Shiro’s cock moving inside him in lazy rolls of his hips, grinding without purpose, keeping him full and happy. In that moment, Shiro can think of no better purpose in life.</p>
<p>Then Keith is tensing and arching into him, head falling back onto Shiro’s shoulder as he manages a faint, <em>“Shiro,” </em>and then he’s coming again, this time wrapped up securely in Shiro’s arms.</p>
<p>“Beautiful,” Shiro growls in his ear as Keith jerks and gasps, oversensitive yet still grinding down on Shiro’s cock like he cannot possibly get enough. Shiro can feel the base of his cock swelling, and maybe Keith can too, because there’s a begging lilt in his soft, ragged cries and in the needy arch of his body.</p>
<p>Shiro coos in soothing reply, mouthing along his jaw and throat. He fucks up into Keith harder, his balls full and tight, cock twitching where it’s sheathed in burning wet heat. He won’t last much longer, but that’s alright, because Shiro knows he can go again and again; as many times as Keith needs, Shiro will give him what he needs. His knot has started to expand, stretching and teasing at Keith’s hole, when Keith gives an almost panicked little squirm in his lap, trying to lift up on his cock and keening in apparent distress when he can’t quite find the coordination.</p>
<p>Shiro makes a worried, questioning sound, rubbing his rough jaw against Keith’s warm cheek as the omega turns towards his touch and gasps, “I want – to look at you – please –”</p>
<p>Shiro blinks, then experimentally lifts up one of Keith’s thighs with his right hand, spreading him impossibly wider over Shiro’s cock. Keith makes a choked sound, entire body bowing forward. He’s putty in Shiro’s hands when Shiro pulls back enough to rearrange him, sinking back in fully when he has Keith on his back, splayed in the center of the nest beneath him. Shiro brushes Keith’s hair back from his face, thumb rubbing at the corner of his lips, still fucking him in slow, deep thrusts.</p>
<p>“Good?” he asks, leaning over Keith, chest to chest, until the omega must feel nearly crushed – but maybe that’s exactly what he wants. Keith isn’t fragile; Shiro knows this. If he wants to be claimed, consumed, even a little bit ruined, then Shiro is happy to provide.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Keith hiccups, heels digging into Shiro’s back, “it’s good, Shiro, it’s so – <em>ah</em> – you’re so good –”</p>
<p>“Good,” Shiro says simply, and Keith melts into it when Shiro kisses him, lifting Keith’s hips to meet his own as his cock thickens, wet and dribbling with precum, buried deep where it belongs. Keith clings to him, tucks his face into Shiro’s throat and makes quiet wounded sounds with each press of Shiro’s cock into him, each increasing swell of his knot. There’s a moment where Shiro feels between them at where Keith’s spread wide, and the omega bites into the meat of his shoulder at the touch, his hole tightening, clamping down on Shiro’s knot.</p>
<p>That’s what finally does it: Shiro clutches Keith to him as he comes, hips rolling through it, cock pulsing as Keith gasps and jerks, his eyes wide, spine arching off the bed, nails raking down Shiro’s back. Shiro groans Keith’s name as bliss overtakes him, scenting his omega thoroughly, nuzzling into his neck and jaw and dragging kisses and teeth over his chest and throat.</p>
<p>His knot swells to completion and Keith’s hole swallows it after a moment of sweet resistance, the omega’s cry echoing through the darkened bedchamber. Shiro kisses the cry from his lips, replacing the sound with his tongue, and Keith comes yet again like that, impaled on his knotted cock, his muffled pleasure music to Shiro’s ears. Shiro fucks him as best he can through it, grinding his cock into Keith until Keith paws weakly at his face with faint whimpers, his hole still spasming, heels slipping a bit from Shiro’s back.</p>
<p>Shiro hums, maneuvering them onto their sides so that Keith can snuggle into him without worry of keeping his tired legs up. Keith’s hand finds Shiro’s face, fingers splaying across his cheek, his eyes dark and shining. Shiro blinks at him sleepily and kisses Keith’s thumb with an inquisitive sound. He sees goosebumps lifting along Keith’s skin and reaches over him to tuck the nest closer around him, bringing a blanket across to cover them both. Keith still shivers.</p>
<p>“Hurts?” Shiro asks, bumping their noses together gently. Keith doesn’t smell like hurt, but he swears there’s <em>something</em> there, complicated and roiling just beneath the sticky sweet heat scent.</p>
<p>Keith swallows. “No,” he breathes, and then, brow furrowing, amends, “a little. But – I like it.” Shiro’s chest rumbles with approval. “I like – being full of you.” He sounds almost shy. Almost.</p>
<p>“Then I’ll keep you full,” Shiro replies, kissing his thumb again, this time closing his lips around the tip of it, not breaking Keith’s gaze. He feels the omega’s hole flutter around his cock, and his cock twitches in another spurt of climax that makes both of them shudder.</p>
<p>“Please,” Keith whispers, and folds into his chest, head pillowed there, another fine tremor going through him.</p>
<p>Shiro hides a kiss in his hair and closes his eyes, intent on making good on his promise.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:D ENJOY~</p><p>it's been a long journey and we're nearin the end of things &lt;3 thank you for all of your support, your kind comments and kudos - reading your words always makes my day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shiro must have drifted off, because when he opens his eyes again, his knot has gone down, but Keith is back on his cock. He’s sitting on it, in fact, straddling Shiro’s hips and rocking slowly, head tilted back towards the bed’s canopy, panting shallowly. Shiro makes a pleased, sleepy grunt, catching Keith’s hips in his hands, though not to still him, just to guide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith jolts at the contact, his eyes darting down almost guiltily to Shiro. But there’s nothing to be guilty about. Keith is still in heat, and his scent is always addicting, but here it’s turned up to the nth degree, delicate and powerful all at once, perfectly irresistible. Shiro intends to satisfy him, and it won’t do for Keith to be ashamed. Why would Keith be ashamed? Shiro feels like he knows the answer, or should know it, but through the haze of rut, it eludes him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, well. It can’t be terribly important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro just coos softly instead of following that line of thought and asks, “Again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith bites his lip hard and nods, his expression one of pleasure but also of scrunched-up focused frustration as he grinds down a little harder. “I need – it’s not – not enough –” He hiccups on a moan that sounds too close to pained for Shiro’s comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hums and rubs his hips. “Shh,” he whispers. “Take what you need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s hands slide up from Shiro’s hips to his chest, kneading at the muscled, thick pectorals there, his entire body bowing forward as he does so. “Strong,” he breathes, dark and pleased. Shiro preens under the attention, and moans as Keith’s curious fingers wander to his nipples, stroking and rubbing until they harden and his cock twitches inside of Keith. Keith must feel it, because he croons in pleasure and bears down harder on Shiro’s slowly growing knot, shuddering like he’s dying for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it’s a shock when he growls and abruptly climbs off of Shiro with a full-body shudder, hair hanging down into his face and teeth bared. The prickling frustration and hot arousal pours off of him in waves, and Shiro sits up, tilting his head with a concerned whine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he reaches out to touch Keith’s shoulder, Keith snaps at him, and Shiro recoils, brow furrowing as he takes in the sight of Keith crouched there, his hand working between his legs, rubbing and tugging at his own cock furiously while the fingers of his other hand slide unevenly into himself with lewd squelching sounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slow growl builds in Shiro’s throat. “What do you need?” he demands, as agitated by Keith’s frenetic, confused urgency to pleasure himself as he is by the near-painful hardness of his cock, now bereft of the omega’s tight, wet hole. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be inside Keith again, needs it like he needs air, but Shiro’s no brute, he isn’t, he won’t force himself upon his omega, even when said omega smells like sticky desire and desperation and</span>
  <em>
    <span> mine</span>
  </em>
  <span> and – Shiro shakes himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s then that he smells the other alphas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every muscle goes rigid. Shiro sniffs at the air, disbelieving, but there’s no mistaking it – not one challenger, but twelve, twenty; at a certain point it doesn’t matter because it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>too many,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it alights every alpha instinct within him in possessive, defensive fury. His eyes fall upon Keith with new understanding, and it only stokes the fire in him higher. Keith is straining between Shiro and the window, beyond which the other alphas are gathered. He’s – conflicted? Shiro growls, much louder than before, and the omega’s eyes dart to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Answer me, Keith,” Shiro warns, shifting closer to him on the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith bares sharp little teeth at him. “So many alphas,” he hisses, in a voice both distressed and longing. “Too many.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes narrow. “Is that what you want?” He almost spits the word out as he jerks his head towards the window. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Them?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes a warbling, overwhelmed sound of despair, pressing his thighs tight together. “I don’t know,” he gasps. “It – it burns, Shiro, and I don’t – I want – </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want too much –”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too much?” Shiro repeats. His mind is a haze, and Keith’s fragmented words make no sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as he shifts closer, Keith’s prickly stance shifts to something more meek, and he whispers, “Don’t want to – ask too much of...of you, Shiro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro freezes. He scents the air again, forcing himself to ignore the unwanted alphas in favor of Keith’s scent, and he realizes that the omega’s scent isn’t conflicted, but uncertain and ashamed. He looks up at Shiro with hesitant, now unmistakably guilty eyes, the set of his body both submissive and on-guard, like he’s on the verge of begging yet readying himself for rejection or anger, or both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith thinks he could ever ask too much of Shiro? Does he believe, somehow, that this is an ordeal for Shiro? Does he truly think that Shiro doesn’t desire him more than he has any other creature, ever? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shifts closer again. “Not too much,” he whispers, as gently as he can. “I’d give you everything, Keith. Everything.” And then, because he is more alpha than gentle, right now, “More than </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>ever could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith still doesn’t look or smell convinced, and in a move that is so typically Keith it makes Shiro’s chest bloom with pride that this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>his, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the omega tips up his chin and retorts, “Prove it, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Shiro is on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lunges for Keith so suddenly that the omega startles, shrinking backwards just as Shiro collides with him, sending them both tumbling off of the bed. Shiro cradles Keith’s head in his palm before it can hit the floor, and then Keith is kissing him, hard and almost vicious, and Shiro’s soft grip turns into a firm fist in his hair, holding him fast. Keith’s legs spread under him, hiked up around Shiro’s hips as Shiro pulls him in and rubs the head of his cock over Keith’s loosened hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith whines, hissing curses as Shiro continues to tease, letting his cock slip over the slickness again and again. He presses his leaking cock to Keith’s swollen dick, getting it messy with his scent and promise of seed, and the omega snarls, head falling back and legs falling wider open. Shiro wants to take Keith’s cock into his mouth again, finds himself drooling for it, but his own cock aches, and Keith is pleading, and he can still smell those damned alphas. It’s that maddening scent which finally drives him to stop playing with Keith’s cum-streaked folds and press inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His cock slips in without resistance and Keith howls, bucking under him, kicking at his back as he tries to force Shiro inside up to the hilt. “Insatiable,” Shiro hisses against his throat, biting at his earlobe. Fucking his omega was sweet and indulgent before, but now all he can think is that Keith needs to be taken, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard,</span>
  </em>
  <span> so that there’s no mistake of who can satisfy him, who can give him all that he deserves. And it’s not any of those alphas outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought spurs Shiro on in a way he’ll be mortified by later, but there’s no room for mortification when Keith is making sounds like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> each one shaky and punched-out and uncontrolled, his mouth hanging open and gasping. Shiro reaches between Keith’s spread thighs as he did before, touching where his cock sinks into the omega, but this time he presses further, easing a finger in alongside the base of his cock, as much as he dares. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s spine arches and a strangled cry falls from his lips, slick dripping over Shiro’s knuckles, his body tightening deliciously, spasming as Shiro’s finger sinks in, fucking him in tandem with Shiro’s cock. “Ah,” Keith says, babbling already, “Sh – Shiro – you – that feels –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does it feel like?” Shiro growls. “Is this enough? Or do you want more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I – m-more – Shiro, please – </span>
  <em>
    <span>please –!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Keith covers his own mouth, face flushed and blotchy, head falling back as Shiro’s hips smack against his ass with the force of his thrusts, relentless now; he can feel the omega coming around his cock in jerky, wet pulses, but he doesn’t stop. When he grabs Keith’s hips and pulls out enough to flip them while Keith is mid-climax, the omega quivers, his upper body automatically sinking to the floor, ass lifting, presenting for his alpha. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro can’t resist landing a sharp smack to the omega’s ass before fucking in deep from behind this time, and Keith’s shout is strangled, his face and ass bright red. He tries to hide his face in the rug, in his own forearm, but his body is bold in its immodesty despite his halfhearted attempts at control. Shiro’s body covers the small omega, making Keith feel the size of him in more ways than one, encompassing him fully. Keith is shoved forward from each thrust, his hands scrabbling at the rug, never gaining any purchase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Shiro’s metal hand slides up Keith’s soft belly, along his heaving ribcage and ever upwards to squeeze and tease at his chest, Keith clenches tight around him, his breath coming in staccato gasps. Shiro’s metal thumb rubs over a stiffening nipple and Keith yelps, biting at his own arm. Shiro’s other arm tightens around Keith’s waist, hitching his hips back onto Shiro’s cock, and Keith whimpers. “Don’t hurt yourself,” Shiro growls. “Let them hear you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith actually sobs at that, even as his hole pulses and tightens. “Something’s – something’s wrong, alpha,” he pleads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, my darling?” Shiro holds him still, lifting Keith so that the omega is in his lap, fully seated on his cock, arching spine flush to Shiro’s chest. “I have you, hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shakes his head, trying to turn and nose under Shiro’s jaw, working his hips down in a shallow grind. “I shouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> this much,” he gasps, and when Shiro nuzzles at his face in concern, he sees – and smells – the tears running down Keith’s face. “It’s – not proper, it’s not – I’m not supposed to – to want to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>ruined,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but that’s – that’s all I want, and I – I’m frightened, Shiro, because – because I don’t want anyone but </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> to ruin me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro groans, folding forwards, back to the floor so that he can cradle Keith beneath him, comfort him as best he can in smothering warm and weight and with the steady ruination of his cock. “Oh, Keith,” he whispers, showering his throat and cheeks in kisses as the omega whines, “I won’t let them. I promise you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith whines louder, shaking his head, and this time Shiro sees his nostrils flare and eyes widen in distress. “But </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” Shiro says flat and disbelieving. He lifts his head from the sweet fog of Keith’s scent with the utmost reluctance. Surely Keith doesn’t mean –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s no mistaking the scent of rotten roses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro isn’t proud of it, but he snarls, yanking Keith back against him with vicious protectiveness. Keith moans, head hanging forward, shoulders shaking. “He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>here,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Keith repeats, “outside, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s the one who – who did this to me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shiro –”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro growls and forces himself to stop, well aware that his nails are close to drawing blood where they grip Keith’s hips. Lotor can’t be allowed near this place, near this omega – Shiro is a failure if he allows that. So – so he’ll fight Lotor off, he has to, has to – </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows and backs off, though Keith keens pathetically as his cock slips free. “Don’t leave,” Keith babbles, rolling over, the display stopping Shiro in his tracks and derailing his line of thought entirely. The omega stares up at him with dark, plaintive eyes, belly exposed and legs spread, spreading his own hole wide with shaky fingers. “He doesn’t – he doesn’t matter,” Keith continues with effort. “Stay with me, Shiro. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay</span>
  </em>
  <span> – he’s out there, not in here…” Keith nods to the window, and as he looks upon it, something in the omega’s gaze turns suddenly dark, hungry, almost scheming. “Show him. Show him you have me, Shiro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith?” Shiro says dumbly, sinking back down to his knees and between Keith’s spread legs. He has an inkling of what Keith means, but surely – that would be too wicked – too obscene – wouldn’t it? What do those words even mean, anymore?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith is smiling now, sharp and sweet and impossible to deny. He sits up to crawl back into Shiro’s lap, legs looped around his waist and ass rubbing down onto the heavy curve of his cock. “Show him, Shiro,” Keith repeats, low and dark against his ear. “Fuck me in the window, so he can see – so they can all see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro groans, his vision and indeed every other sense – except for the inescapable sensation of Keith moving against him – momentarily blacking out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Shiro hisses, already pawing at Keith, lifting his hips, “yes, yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keith –”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith purrs, suddenly putty in his hands again, squirming against him and grinning like the Cheshire cat when Shiro fills him. “Up,” Keith coos, biting his earlobe, and makes the prettiest sounds Shiro’s ever heard when Shiro struggles to his feet with Keith firmly and smugly impaled on his cock. Any sense of direction is difficult to find, but the window is hard to miss, bright as its glass is in the moonlight streaming in. When they reach the window, Keith’s legs uncurl from Shiro’s waist, and Shiro is forced to lower him back down with a confused, yearning sound as they separate again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the separation is brief – Keith simply turns around so that he’s facing the window, forearms braced upon it, and looks over his shoulder at Shiro with a challenge in his eyes. “Show him,” he repeats. “Show them all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Shiro hardly needs further invitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he fucks into Keith it can’t be described as anything other than brutal, relentless, and terribly, terribly greedy. Keith remains standing for hardly a minute before his knees give way and the omega slumps fully against the window, bare body pressed all along the cool glass, his head turned so that Shiro can see the open-mouthed pleasure of his profile, his lashes fluttering and mouth falling open further as Shiro’s cock drives up into him again and again. The angle is shallow, bordering on teasing, but the frustration just makes them both all the more desperate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s hands roam over Keith’s body, more to feel him up than to focus anywhere, but when he mouths at Keith’s neck and forces himself to look beyond the object of this all-consuming desire, to look through the window, his hands lock around Keith and a growl builds in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can see the alphas outside, no longer hidden, but advancing towards a figure walking through the gates. The moonlight makes his identity clear, but even if it were a moonless night, Shiro smells the invading alpha’s foul scent from here. Keith stiffens for a moment, and for that moment, Shiro stills, wondering if Keith is having second thoughts, if this display is too bold after all, if he wishes to turn away into the safety of the shadows. Shiro kisses the nape of his neck, rumbling against him, and is gratified by the way Keith relaxes into him at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Keith promises, eyes closing when Shiro’s hand slides down to cup his cock. “Yes – just like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hums and draws him into a kiss, Keith’s mouth soft and yielding to his own as Shiro forces him up onto his tiptoes, cradling his ass and digging his thumbs in, spreading the omega wider in a glorious view only Shiro can see. But the others, outside – they can see all the rest, see the way Keith sunders to him, the way that regal figure in the window allows himself to be so thoroughly eclipsed, the heavy penumbra of Shiro’s arms wrapping around him with no intention of ever letting go. When Keith breaks the kiss to gasp and moan for his alpha, they can see that, too, and Shiro hopes they see the way Keith’s perfect lips form his name with such helpless longing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they were just two people in a window, their performance might have been easily missed. But Keith’s heat scent burns for the alphas to see, to flock towards like moths to flame. So it’s only a matter of time before the alpha in the moonlight looks away from the gathered, growling shadows to that bright, tantalizing window, and when he does so, Shiro meets his eyes and fucks Keith the way he’s been begging for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lotor’s face is barely visible, but Shiro knows<em> he</em> can see <em>their</em> faces, and that’s what matters. He can see exactly as much of Keith’s beautiful form, writhing with need and pleasure, as the two of them allow him to see, which is just enough to torment him. He can see the way Keith throws his head back and offers himself anew to each devastating slide of Shiro’s cock inside him. And though only Shiro can see the stream of cum running down Keith’s inner thighs after he comes for the first time, his thickening cock still unsated and Keith’s heat still wild for more, he hopes Lotor sees the expression Keith makes when Shiro buries deep and holds him there, letting him tremble and gasp to the ends of a climax before it bleeds into another, and another, and another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro thinks he must see it, the way that infuriating smell of rotten roses crumbles to dismayed, decaying dust, the way he stops, stricken, staring up at the man in the window of Blackwood Manor, the one who has eluded him only to taunt him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You did this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Shiro thinks, glowering down at Lotor as he kisses Keith’s throat, rubs his lips over swollen scent glands and paints them with his tongue until Keith keens and arches, fucking himself back onto Shiro’s cock. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reap the consequences, bastard. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, as the shadows of the other alphas – allies, Shiro reminds himself – begin to close in on Lotor, the alpha shouts, desperate and echoing, “Release him, Shirogane! You know what I have told you is the truth: you can never have him, not in the way intended for an alpha like </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You are not fit for him, and when this fog lifts from him, he will see that! Give him to me, and save yourself that pain!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro falters, baring his teeth in a snarl even as he draws back slightly, frightened that somehow, something in him recognizes a truth in Lotor’s words. No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Keith is </span>
  <em>
    <span>here </span>
  </em>
  <span>– Keith wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>– doesn’t he? And yet – and yet, he isn’t marked. He isn’t Shiro’s mate. Why is that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro whines, his metal hand beginning to lift away from Keith’s body, but the omega stills his wrist, pressing his hand over cold metal fingers and keeping them there, splayed over his belly, where Keith trusts him to touch. Keith trusts him. That means – something. Shiro just isn’t sure what, yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares down at Lotor and Shiro nuzzles uncertainly into his neck. “Do you want – to go to him?” Shiro whispers, each word a hot stone on his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes a sound, and it takes Shiro a moment to realize – he’s laughing. It’s a mad, almost terrifying giggle which spills from his lips and into the moonlight, and halfway through, it becomes something more feral, more dangerous, a growl from deep in his throat. “No,” he whispers back fiercely, bracing his hands on the glass, “I will never go to him, Shiro. Never.” He throws back his head with a smile, all teeth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Never.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro kisses him and Keith groans his approval, clawing at Shiro’s head to bring him closer until Shiro is crushing him up against the glass, the omega barely standing, clinging to him and riding his cock in increasingly desperate rolls of his hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never,” Shiro agrees, grunting and driving deeper into him as Keith bites at his lips, drawing blood which runs bright and hot down his chin. Keith seems to revel in it, and when Shiro’s knot stretches his hole for the second time, he bears down on it and screams with an animal, abandoned sort of triumph, coming all over Shiro’s fingers as the alpha pumps his dripping cock to sweet completion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stays on his feet afterwards, in Shiro’s arms, pressed to the window, chest heaving, skin covered in goosebumps. Shiro scents him, gentle and hesitant, and Keith welcomes it with a soft, satisfied sigh. He’s still smiling, still edged with danger, and when his eyes open, they find Lotor again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no claim to my home, Lotor Sinclair,” Keith hisses, head falling back against Shiro’s chest, “you have no claim to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And Lotor cannot hear him through the glass, but, Shiro thinks with deep, deep satisfaction, he doesn’t have to. Seeing is enough – more than enough. Keith is not Lotor’s. He never has been. The expression on Keith’s face when Lotor wordlessly turns around and slinks back out of the gates of Blackwood Manor is closer to relief when triumph. He’s gone. He’s gone, and he won’t come back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shivers and turns around in Shiro’s embrace as best he can, the two of them locked together as they are. “Take me back to bed, Shiro,” Keith whispers, tucked close and secret against his lips. “And close the curtains.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro barely manages to close them and walk them back to the bed before they’re both aching again, and when he fucks Keith into the featherdown mattress Keith cries, messy and overwhelmed and loud enough for anyone to hear. Shiro’s knot tugs at his used hole again and again, and Shiro thinks it must hurt, and maybe it does, but Keith just keeps begging for him not to stop, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t you dare stop, Shirogane, don’t leave me or I’ll make you sorry, I will, I will.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t understand, so he does as he’s told, kissing the omega’s tears away as they fall. When he knots Keith again, the omega keeps squirming, whimpering and biting the pillow and refusing to meet Shiro’s eyes, mumbling about fire in his belly and repeating those silly, confusing things about how he shouldn’t want to be ruined, and it’s wrong, it’s wrong to want wicked things like that, selfish things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro doesn’t understand. All he understands is that he would do anything for Keith, and when he pulls out only to sink down Keith’s body and lap at his overflowing hole, licking at where his seed spills free, Keith cries out and hides his face, cursing and begging Shiro in the same breath. Shiro kisses his hole as it gapes and leaks more slickness, less than before but still enough to lap up. “I won’t leave you,” Shiro tells him, looking up at Keith’s flushed, wrecked face from between his trembling thighs. “Never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise,” Keith says simply, reaching down to grasp his hand, shaky but bruising. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pillows his head on Keith’s belly, inhaling summertime. “I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dawn comes while they are sleeping, and sleeping, and sleeping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wakes a few times, disoriented with a sense of hazy panic which fades to assured contentment as soon as he smells and feels Keith nestled beside him, tucked close under the crook of his arm. The omega’s body is awash with exhaustion, and though heat still clings to him, when Shiro scents him, careful not to wake him, he swears the cloying, unnaturally intense element of it has faded. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The serum is wearing off,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, though such words hold little meaning in the pleasant fog of his mind, right now. What is important is that he thinks Keith will be alright. Yes. He must be alright. Shiro will do all within his power to make it so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At one point in the afternoon, Shiro wakes for long enough to rise and fetch some water for them both. Keith mewls and squirms in protest but doesn’t wake as Shiro extricates himself, and he has to take a moment to look upon their nest with pride – it’s a mess of blankets and pillows and scents and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>theirs. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s perfect. Shiro doesn’t know how he went so long without this – without someone like Keith, someone to care for and protect and love...yes, Shiro thinks, he’s in love. He must not have been certain of that, before, and that’s why he hasn’t marked Keith, yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is Keith certain, too? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want anyone but you to ruin me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro tilts his head at the sleeping omega with a small, soft smile and wanders off in search of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he returns, Keith is stirring awake and mumbling his name, low and edged with the beginnings of distress. Shiro goes to his side with a cup of water, and when he presses it to Keith’s lips, the omega hums, dark eyes darting up to meet his before falling shut as he drinks. He drinks two more cups before making a sound of faint displeasure and pushing the cup away in favor of climbing onto Shiro instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro huffs at him, carding his fingers through mussed black hair. “You should eat,” he murmurs, though his heart’s not in the idea, not when Keith is straddling his hips and kneading at his chest. “Keep your...</span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>...strength up...mmh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My strength,” Keith’s arms wind around his neck, “is up, alpha.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah,” Shiro manages, head falling back against the headboard as Keith tugs at the base of his cock, his rest apparently over and done with. “I see that, my darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling?” Keith blinks up at him, a dark blush suffusing his pale, sweat-shining skin. “Hm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro runs a cautious hand down Keith’s spine. The omega arches into it like a pleased cat, a low purr rumbling through him. “Should I not...call you that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling,” Keith repeats, more sure, and Shiro feels his smile against his neck. “Say it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling,” Shiro obliges, hand sliding lower until he’s cupping Keith’s ass, fingers creeping inwards, sliding over his hole as it grows wetter. “My darling, I want –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” Keith’s voice is breathy, already wrecked. “What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You,” Shiro growls, closing his eyes against the onslaught of feeling. “Always you, mine, my darling, my omega.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shudders, reaching under himself to press the head of Shiro’s cock to his hole and Shiro has a moment of uncertainty, not wishing to hurt him, but if it stings when Keith sinks down on his cock, it’s because Keith wants it to. He bites his lip and whispers Shiro’s name in a frantic little chant, and there’s something different in the cadence of it, something Shiro can’t quite grasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sits back against the headboard and begins to move with him, meeting Keith’s hips until the omega is bouncing in his lap and they’re both panting. Halfway through it, Keith moans in a way that is almost agonized, blinking up at the ceiling as he gasps, “Forgive me, please – you’ll forgive me, won’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro frowns and wraps his arms around Keith, drawing him closer, comforting. “Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Keith gasps, shaking his head, “oh – it’s nothing – I just – there’s so much – it feels – I want –</span>
  <em>
    <span> I want –”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He stops himself, trembling, thighs tightening around Shiro’s hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want, my darling?” Shiro asks, kissing his taut shoulders, stroking his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too much,” Keith breathes, his brows drawing together, eyes falling shut as he loses himself to another thick slide of Shiro’s cock, deep within. “I want things – I cannot have – people – I cannot have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro falters. He kisses Keith’s cheek, rubs his nose against the omega’s jaw. “You can,” he says. “You can have anything you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith whimpers and shakes his head. “Oh, Shiro,” he says, “I wish – how I wish…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you wish?” Shiro keeps Keith anchored in his lap, holding him still though he tries to shift in needy little movements, and when his eyes open the lashes are beaded with forming tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For you to stay,” Keith pleads, voice breaking. “Everyone – leaves. But you – how can I – how am I supposed to let you go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro peers at him, at those tear-filled indigo eyes and his expression of anguish, feels the way Keith clings to him as if Shiro will be torn from him at any moment. Well, that won’t do. Shiro isn’t going anywhere. He understands, now. Keith thinks he won’t stay because Shiro hasn’t claimed him properly. The other alphas know Keith isn’t theirs, but Keith doesn’t know he’s Shiro’s, that he’s always been Shiro’s, so it seems Shiro must prove it to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not leaving,” Shiro murmurs, nuzzling into his neck, kissing him there until Keith shivers and tilts his head back for better access, surrendering to the touch. “I’m yours. Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s teeth graze Keith’s throat with intent and Keith stiffens in his arms, his scent spilling out a confusing wave of shock and want and fear all at once. “Shiro, wait –” Keith gasps, and Shiro becomes at once aware of his minute trembling, drawing back with a concerned rumble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apparent rejection stings, and makes no sense, considering how deep Shiro is buried within him and how receptive Keith has been so far. Has he made a mistake? “You don’t want…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The omega in his lap shakes his head, eyes darting away, hesitating for a long moment before baring his throat to Shiro, lower lip caught between his teeth. “No, I do,” he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. “Do it, Shiro – please. Make me – make me yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro uncertainly nuzzles back in, still unable to decipher Keith’s scent. Keith is willing, he concludes, and it’s only natural that Keith would be overwhelmed. It’s an important moment. His chest swells with pride, and he croons softly, comforting. “Mine,” he promises, arm sliding around Keith’s waist, holding him fast as his teeth again press to unmarked flesh. “I’ll be a good alpha for you. Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes a choked sound, half agonized, half desperate. “Yes,” he whispers, now gripping the back of Shiro’s neck, holding him closer, keeping his head tucked to Keith’s neck. “You will. You are. Please – I –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounds like he’s going to say something else, but instead he falls silent, fingers stroking through Shiro’s hair as Shiro hums, licks at his throat, places a few kisses there for good measure, and then sharply, sweetly bites. Keith keens. Shiro keeps his teeth there for a few long moments, letting Keith feel it, letting him feel the throb of his pulse in the mark, feel the trust he has given. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterwards, they both move through it, rocking together until Keith is melting into him, trembling into climax as Shiro kisses his omega’s mark and guides Keith down to the bed so he can cover him and fuck him as deep as he likes. Keith’s legs are shaking around his waist, heels digging into his back as Shiro ruins his mate – </span>
  <em>
    <span>his mate </span>
  </em>
  <span>– once more, with every ounce of affection he feels for the lovely creature named Keith Blackwood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when he fills Keith again, they lay together like lovers ought to, but when Keith lays his head over where Shiro’s heart beats, Shiro feels the dampness of tears on his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro cups his face with a questioning sound, leaning down to bump their noses together, and Keith lets out a soft, choked noise, half sob, half laugh. “You’re a good man, Takashi Shirogane,” he whispers, and hides his face in Shiro’s chest, shoulders shivering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a puzzle piece missing here, but Shiro can’t find it, and with Keith in his arms, his mate, where he belongs...how important can it really be?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s somewhere on the very cusp of sleep, past the point of no return, that he realizes Keith never marked him, too, but slumber takes him before he can ponder it. There will be time for that later...time with Keith...all the time in the world, surely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wakes, and Keith isn’t there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the morning – the next morning. He slept through the night. Was Keith there, beside him? Why didn’t Keith wake him? Where is he?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where is his mate?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro scrambles out of bed, destroying half of the nest in the process, looking about frantically. The curtains are still drawn, but through the crack warm sunshine spills, taunting him in its cheerfulness. This is wrong. His head hurts. His body hurts. His right arm aches – he pauses, bracing himself on the bedpost, breathing hard. Why didn’t he take off the prosthetic? Ryou will be so cross with him. But there was a good reason...he was...he was in rut, and Keith – </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horrified realization washes over Shiro like the buckets of ice water outside the barn in winter, numbing and painful at the same time. He stands in the center of the bedroom – Keith’s bedroom – and silently falls to pieces. He marked Keith. He mated Keith. And now Keith is gone. Shiro glances at the bedside table. The blade is gone from it, and Keith’s clothes are removed from where they had been scattered across the floor. Shiro’s clothes have also been retrieved, but they’ve been folded with bewildering neatness on the ottoman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So...so he hasn’t stabbed Shiro in his sleep, and he folded his clothes, but he’s...fled. Shiro swallows thickly. What does that </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He could run, he thinks for a guilty but tempting moment as he gets dressed, the clothes feeling strange against his skin (he is desperately in need of a bath, but that can wait). He could simply...disappear. Find another front to fight on, if any would take him, or else become a farmer, like he was meant to. Maybe, if he’s feeling really lofty, he could return to university, like Ryou. Maybe –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. He’s a bloody fool, but he won’t run from this. Keith deserves better than that. So Shiro will find him...say his piece. He expects it’s going to hurt, perhaps literally. Perhaps Keith will hit him, insult him. He’s entitled to all of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if Shiro’s being honest, if the last time Keith touches him is to strike him, then...he’ll savor it, because it’s still Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, he is doomed, truly doomed. But wasn’t he always?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Shiro opens the door, there’s a wolf curled on the floor of the landing. He freezes. Mauled by a wolf was not something he had expected, though he really should have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Kosmo doesn’t maul him. He lifts his head and blinks at Shiro, and his tail begins a slow </span>
  <em>
    <span>thumpthumpthump</span>
  </em>
  <span> against the floor. Hesitantly, Shiro steps forward. “Hello, wolf,” he begins, and rubs his temple. Kosmo whines, tilting his head. “Where, uh...where’s Keith?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kosmo blinks, then turns to look downstairs, his nose twitching and ears flicking back with a low whine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Shiro says. “Is he...alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kosmo whuffs, which Shiro likes to think is the wolf equivalent of a shrug. Optimistically, that’s what it means, and not, </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re about to be verbally, emotionally, and possibly physically eviscerated, fool. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sighs. “Well...wish me luck,” he says, and makes his way past Kosmo to the stairs. The wolf just watches him go curiously before laying back down and taking a nap. Come to think of it, the wolf also looked rather exhausted. Shiro wonders if he took the “guard the house” order a little too seriously. He’s a good wolf. A wolf fit for Keith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike Shiro. He winces as he catches a familiar scent, drifting through the quiet house along with the smell of tea and breakfast. He listens for a moment. He can hear the faint clinking of cups and utensils from the kitchen, and as he nears it, the scent grows stronger and he can see the door is open, and there is a figure sitting at the plain wooden table, drinking tea and looking out the brightly curtained windows, his back to Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if Shiro could ever mistake him for another...especially with Shiro’s mark on his neck. The feeling that washes over Shiro at seeing that mark is visceral, a sure whisper of <em>mine</em> prickling over his skin. He takes a deep breath, shakes it off, and discards it at the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes a step forward and a floorboard creaks under his feet. Keith tenses so hard that the change is clearly visible. He holds his teacup steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro clears his throat and bows his head. “I...apologize for the disturbance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith does not drink from the teacup, nor does he set it down. “It’s fine. You’re here now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Shiro says, “I...suppose so. Do you want me to leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith turns slightly, just enough for Shiro to see his profile. “I’m not dismissing you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hates this. He hates how easy it was to talk with Keith, to be with Keith, before, and now...is this, whatever this is, salvageable? Keith’s tone is unreadable, and his scent is...confusing. It’s a tangle of hurt, that much is clear. Hurt that Shiro has caused. Hurt that Shiro doesn’t know how to fix – and doubts Keith even wants him to try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it, Shiro?” Keith asks, sharp, but not like he means it to be, more like he doesn’t know how to say it any other way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro exhales and walks fully into the kitchen, standing on the other side of the table, though even that proximity is dizzying. Keith swallows, but meets his gaze, raising an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve betrayed your trust,” Shiro says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro had prepared himself for many reactions, but he’s not prepared for Keith to scoff and say, “You? You did not betray me. I have betrayed myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith, please,” Shiro says, wringing his hands. “You’re not at fault. I have – I have wronged you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes a careful sip of his tea. His knuckles are white on the cup’s handle. “Wronged me? Don’t –” He draws in a sharp breath. “Don’t be absurd, Shiro. We both know who started what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t – I don’t just mean by taking your – your maidenhood.” Shiro swallows as Keith sets down the cup almost hard enough to crack it, shooting him a deadly look. “I mean – that if your heat has broken, and after only a day, it could mean the serum was only meant to last that long, or it could mean that you are with...with child, and that would be –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Keith asks with terrifying calmness. “What would it be, Shiro?” Before he has a chance to answer, Keith shakes his head. “Nevermind. I’m not. I have a feeling that I’m not, and my sex is always supposed to be so very in tune with our feelings, aren’t we?” His mouth twists. “And if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>with child – so be it. Don’t worry, it wouldn’t be your concern.” He bites his lip, hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro steps forward. Keith tenses, and he stops short. “I’m sorry, Keith,” he whispers. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, not at all, but please know I – I am so sorry, with all of my being, and anything I can do to make it right, I will. Marks aren't - they don't have to be permanent, there are doctors, people who could make it like...like it never happened...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop apologizing,” Keith snaps. He lets out a shaky breath and rubs his temples. “I’m not angry. I’m not upset with you. There’s nothing to forgive, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you say that –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough.” Keith holds up a hand. “Enough. We...we need not speak more of this. I can arrange for you to be sent away as soon as you’d like. I’ve requested that the servants return, and when they do, you may have use of the carriage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sent away?” Shiro repeats, hollowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Keith says, looking out the kitchen window, his jaw set. “Perhaps – perhaps that would be best for us both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So much for not getting my heart broken,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Shiro thinks. He can already see the pity in Ryou’s face. His brother was right, of course. Shiro had always known that. He just hadn’t anticipated it would hurt this much. But – he will take this exit gracefully, he will, because Keith deserves that, if nothing else. He just...needs to know one thing, first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro steels himself. “Before I...leave,” he says, “I know I have no right to do so, but...I would ask you one question, if you would let me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith purses his lips. “Ask it, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why –” Shiro stares at the angry red bite marks on Keith’s slender white throat. “Why did you let me mark you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith covers the wound with his hand and looks steadily into his cup of tea. “Because I’m very selfish, I think.” Keith takes a deep, shuddering breath and slowly turns to look up at him. “Can </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> forgive </span>
  <em>
    <span>me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Selfish,” Shiro repeats. “What…if either of us is</span>
  <em>
    <span> selfish, </span>
  </em>
  <span>here, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith scoffs, shaking his head. “You? You were out of your mind, Shiro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So were you –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Until I wasn’t.” Keith’s eyes cut him to the bone. “At the end, I wasn’t, Shiro. And the more I think about it, the more I think I was present the entire time, more or less.” He tilts his head. “I didn’t react the way I did because of the false heat, at least not entirely. I reacted that way because I was with </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Shiro.” He gets the words out even and firm, but his face reddens as he says it, coloring with anger and shame. He turns away. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Shiro says, shaken, uncertain, and yet – hopeful. “Keith. Keith, look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Keith speaks, his voice is so tiny as to almost be unrecognizable. “No,” Keith whispers, head in his hands, “no, I cannot do that, Shiro, and I may be a coward for it, but I cannot. Don’t make me. Please, don’t make me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith,” Shiro says, softer, hardly believing it. “Wait, I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith curls further into himself. “It’s my fault, Shiro, it is. I didn’t want to see that Lotor was cruel, but you saw it from the beginning, and I didn’t – I couldn’t bear to listen, because if I couldn’t have you, I thought, I thought maybe at least I could try to settle for him – but – he was never even half as good as you, Shiro.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stares at him. He doesn’t have a cup of tea, but if he did, it would be shattered on the floor. “Sorry,” he croaks, “what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith lifts his hands away from his face, and when he glances back at Shiro it’s tearstained. “I understand if this ruins everything – between us. Our friendship, our...your employment.” Keith wipes his eyes and shakes his head. “After seeing me like...like</span>
  <em>
    <span> that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>things </span>
  </em>
  <span>I said to you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of this is your fault, Keith,” Shiro says in a rush, “you – you were in heat, you were out of it and I knew, I knew you didn’t mean those things, you couldn’t possibly –”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“TAKASHI SHIROGANE, LISTEN TO ME.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Keith stands with a clatter, knocking over his teacup in the process and hardly seeming to notice, his hands in fists at his sides, his expression furious and frantic as he looks at Shiro from across the table. Shiro blinks at him owlishly, and Keith draws in a shaky breath. “I meant it, Shiro,” he says lowly. “I meant every word of it. I love you. I want you to be my – my alpha. I want to keep the mark you gave me, and I would wear it with pride, if you let me. But you don’t feel the same and it was selfish for me to expect you to, and</span>
  <em>
    <span> I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry, Shiro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro opens his mouth. Closes it. He takes a step forward, walking along the edge of the table, around it, towards Keith. Keith stays where he is, every muscle poised for fight, or flight, Shiro isn’t certain which. “But I do love you,” Shiro hears himself saying. He wets his lips. Keith stares up at him, shock overtaking the shame. “And – I do want to be yours. I meant it, too, Keith – I meant it all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s fists slowly uncurl, hands falling limp at his sides. “You – you –” He swallows. “Truly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Truer than anything I have ever felt,” Shiro whispers, now close enough to reach out and touch, though he does not do so. “But...but I’m not...Keith, you deserve an alpha worthy of you, worthy of your wealth and your lands and your legacy – mmph!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith drags him down by the cravat into a furious, bruising kiss. Their teeth click together and both of their mouths are swollen from the previous day and night’s activities and Shiro tastes of foul morning breath while Keith tastes of bitterly over-brewed tea, but neither of them care a whit about any of it. When they break apart, Keith gasps, “I don’t bloody</span>
  <em>
    <span> care </span>
  </em>
  <span>about </span>
  <em>
    <span>any of that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Shiro, I care about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro mumbles, stunned and stupid with affection, “But – you could have anyone you wanted –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful news,” Keith retorts, nipping his lower lip, his eyes wild. “I want you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m a sheep farmer!” Shiro squawks, as incredulous as he is giddy, giddy because Keith is kissing him in the kitchen, professing his love, and he is realizing that, indeed, they are both fools, quite possibly, and have been all along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith grins, all teeth. “And so? I’m descended from omegan warriors in the steppe who probably farm a few sheep of their own!” He takes Shiro’s face between his hands, gazing up at him. All Shiro can do is gaze back, helpless, half-wondering if he’s dreaming, yet knowing from the solid weight of Keith against him and the blossoming of their joined scents in the morning air that it must be, somehow, entirely real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Shiro allows himself to reach out, to cup Keith’s cheek and rub at the tear tracks with his thumb. Keith freezes, and for a second Shiro fears he’s misstepped, but then Keith sighs, quiet and relieved, and leans into his hand. “I want you to be happy,” Shiro whispers, swallowing back tears of his own. “That’s all I want, Keith.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes his hand, entwining his fingers with Shiro’s and squeezing. “You’re allowed to have happiness, too, Shiro,” he says, and presses a kiss to each of Shiro’s knuckles. “You are worthy of me. Don’t ever doubt that. I never have.” He bows his head over Shiro’s hand, and Shiro bows his head over Keith’s head, and they stand there like that in the kitchen together for a while, holding each other, breathing each other in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Shiro whispers after the tea has grown cold and the sunlight has filled the entire kitchen, “what now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t lift his head from Shiro’s hand, but instead steps closer until they’re flush, and rests his cheek once more over where Shiro’s heart beats. “I have been thinking,” Keith murmurs, “a great deal about elopement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s heart leaps. “That sounds awfully adventurous...my interest is piqued.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. I’ve heard Mongolia is a prime location for that sort of thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro finds himself grinning. “Oh? I don’t know...I’ve heard frightening tales of omegas there with magical swords and cunning wiles. It could be dangerous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha,” Keith snorts, and snuggles into him, propriety forgotten, tossed aside and left to the winds. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hums and brushes Keith’s hair out of his face, tracing his jaw, his throat, the mark there. “I love you,” he says, testing the words on his tongue. New as they are, they’re still thrilling. He somehow doubts they will ever lose that quality, with Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too,” Keith replies at once, muffled in Shiro’s shirt, and Shiro can see from the curve of his cheek that he’s smiling.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The mountain breeze stirs the still, cool air in the small but cozy tent, the flicker of the tent flaps jolting Keith out of the familiar reverie of polishing his blade. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses, laying his blade across his lap where he sits cross-legged on the blanket in the tent’s center. The blanket was a marriage gift, a tradition of the Marmora. The many hands of the clan wove the intricate patterns together in soft, brightly dyed wool for the two of them over many months, and Keith hopes it will last them many years to come. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A stronger breeze tugs the tent flaps open a little wider, threatening to untie them altogether. Keith huffs, setting aside his blade with care in its cloth, the luxite gleaming darkly in the early morning light which has begun to creep into the tent through the gap. He stands to draw the tent entry shut, more securely this time, but finds himself looking beyond it to the clustered tents around the embers of last night’s bonfire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are a few Blades already awake, and Krolia is among them. His mother carries her own blade with the deadly ease of a seasoned warrior, and with her is her trusty shadow, Kolivan, his heavy sabre drawn and at the ready. They stand at the top of the cliff on the edge of camp, falling into their morning sparring with friendly but fierce efficiency. Krolia darts and dances around Kolivan’s punishing blows, the two of them hardly making a single sound, the dust billowing up around their feet, catching motes of the golden sunshine spilling over the horizon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they both ease off, taking a moment to collect themselves, Krolia turns towards their tent, her keen gaze falling upon the fluttering fabric, her head tilting, just so. Keith steps back into the shadow before she can call out to him, and she stares a moment longer, but does not approach. Keith listens, and before long the metallic song of blades resumes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I will meet her blade later, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Keith muses as he ties the tent entry firmly shut, noting as he does so the fine callouses that have formed on his fingertips. He wears leather gloves, as one must in the mountain chill, but he suspects he has calloused palms now, too. It’s a strange realization. He finds himself smiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he and Shiro had told Krolia their intentions, she had warned them that this life was a very different one. They would have to adapt. Even as she had said it, Keith had seen the hope in her eyes, the wonder that he would actually choose this path, the fear that he would loathe it after all. There had been apology there, too – there is still often apology in Krolia’s eyes when she looks at her son. She isn’t good at apologies, but she’s trying. They have time to make up for what was lost, or at least to make something new. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith has never had a mother before, never thought he would ever have a mother, but he likes it, he thinks. It’s still awkward at times, but not bad. It’s family. It’s messy. They’re figuring it out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shiro is family, too, of a different kind. A simpler kind, somehow. Still messy, sometimes, but in the end, Keith knows that Shiro will feel like home. They are oceans and continents away from Blackwood Manor, but with Shiro beside him, he cannot feel much loss or longing for that distant estate with its quiet heath and winding river. Blackwood Manor was a place of safety, until it wasn’t. He spent so many years behind those iron gates, equal parts terrified and fascinated by what lay beyond, and now...Keith can’t quite recognize that person, anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Much as he would like to say that leaving Blackwood Manor has magically cured him of his peculiar, particular ills, it has not. It’s still difficult, at times, to keep his mind and senses clear with so many scents in close proximity, most of them omegas. There are moments when Keith still recoils with uncontrollable revulsion and nausea, and worse moments when he has to physically remove himself from the tangle of scent and self, for fear of collapsing or crying or, on the worst days, hurling himself from the mountains in his need to escape. He doesn’t do that, of course, but it is a thought that enters his mind in that foggy, overwhelmed desperation to flee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Usually, it is enough to turn into Shiro’s embrace and anchor himself, and when it isn’t, when even Shiro’s scent begins to rankle at the edges, Shiro never questions it. Keith is used to being questioned, criticized and dissected, whether by tongue or eye, but Shiro never does these things. He just trusts – not blindly, he has a wisdom in some moments which Keith tends to lack – but with an unwavering faith which never fails to leave Keith breathless. How good it is to be believed in. How good it is to know that someone will always have your back, rain or shine, for better or for worse. Keith doesn’t quite know what he’s done to deserve that, but it’s a treasure he accepts, holds close and careful to his heart with no thought of ever letting go, even a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith finishes tying the tent shut, wraps his blade and places it beside the entry – just in case – and pads across the blanket to the pile of furs where his mate sleeps. He cuts a handsome figure even in slumber with his deep golden tan, unshaven face, shaggier hair, and decidedly broader frame. Shiro has changed, yet all the things that matter most have stayed so much the same. Shiro doesn’t even shift when Keith leans down to brush his knuckles across Shiro’s stubble-dark jaw, smiling at the alpha’s deep, content slumber. Shiro is so often a light sleeper, but he sleeps well here, under the stars with the Marmora...and with Keith beside him, always. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he ponders it, Keith realizes he cannot recall the last time he had a night terror, either. And to think, those fearful dreams once ruled him so entirely that he was often afraid to sleep at all. He spent so many nights alone in that room, curled up against the cold window, watching the manor gates and waiting for his father to return, yet knowing in the pit of his stomach that his father would never walk through those gates again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next person who did was Shiro, and it hadn’t been long after the alpha’s arrival for Keith’s dreams to shift into another falling figure on a dark and bloody battlefield, crumpling to his knees with a bayonet piercing him through, Keith’s cries for him to stand up,</span>
  <em>
    <span> stand up, you bloody fool, don’t do this to me, not again </span>
  </em>
  <span>echoing uselessly in that seething dark sea of bodies. Those cries are softer now, but Keith doubts the fear will ever leave him – the fear that he will once more be left alone, all in black, this time with a heart torn asunder and a fading mark on his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a grim thought, but in a way, Keith is grateful for it. It’s a thought that makes him fight all the more hard, a thought that makes his blade ring all the more true, a thought that makes it all the more sweet when Shiro goes to him after each battle, takes Keith in his arms and holds him and whispers through the veil of blood and sweat and dust, “I’m here. We’re here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They are almost at the end of this mission, Keith muses, settling back down on the blanket and closing his eyes, still stroking Shiro’s face absentmindedly. He hasn’t told Shiro yet, but he thinks that this may be their last mission, at least for a while. They could return to the Marmoran capital, perhaps...settle down in a new home, one a bit more permanent than their trusty old tent. They wouldn’t need an estate, nor a manor...just a few rooms to call their own, perhaps a small garden, a place for play and rest...Keith breathes in the thought, letting it sit warm and whole in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of habit, he finds himself opening the leather satchel hanging off of his belt, his fingers touching the edges of warm parchment, unfolded and refolded many times. He draws it out, unfolding it once more, smoothing it out until the bold ink strokes are legible. He considers it, the impossibility of it. If Lotor had his way, this letter never would have fallen into Keith’s hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Lotor did not have his way. Nor did the other Sinclair. Keith doesn’t remember the events after the masquerade with any degree of clarity, but a few stand out above the rest – Krolia was gravely wounded, for months at death’s door, during which Allura and her surprisingly relentless lawyer friends hounded the Sinclairs in court. What ensued was an unholy combination of medical and legal purgatory, offset only by Shiro’s presence, and even there, uncertainty had lurked. Lotor was still on the loose, and Keith had not slept well for those weeks of interminable dread, though he slept better with Shiro at his side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, however, Krolia woke, lucid and well, and justice did prevail. Through Allura’s hard work, as well as a few key tips from the turncoat turned apologetic ally Acxa, the Greater Anglian Laboratory for Research in Alchemy was found to be a place of horror, not medicine and science, and the Sinclairs were apprehended trying to leave the country soon after. Keith isn’t sure where they are, now, and frankly, he does not care. They were stripped of their titles and their fortune and their lands – he knows that much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a man like Lotor, that is a fate worse than death. Keith wonders if he learned his lesson, even as he knows with resigned certainty that the answer is no. Sometimes he thinks that Lotor might return for him someday, a more ragged, more brutal version of that elegant gentleman with a viper’s heart, but this time, Keith isn’t afraid.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Let him come,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My blade will be waiting. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith does, at times, regret not knowing more sooner, not confronting Lotor outright about what he and Honerva were trying to accomplish. He regrets it only because there is a part of him that understands wanting someone back so badly that you’d do anything to get them back, even if it takes horrors, even if it takes hurting others along the way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith often thinks that if Lotor had found him just a little sooner – right after he had received the news of his father’s death, perhaps, before Shiro had a chance to arrive – Lotor Sinclair might have seduced him quite easily, and not with lies, not with false promises, but simply with the truth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Lotor had told him that his own father could be brought back, the Keith from then would have given him his heart on a platter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Keith knows now that this isn’t how grief works. Sometimes, people are lost, and they don’t come back. But if you’re lucky, if you can allow yourself to let them in, new people are found. They don’t make the holes that the loss left behind go away, but they can patch them up, help you stay whole, and move forward without feeling like you’re falling to pieces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shiro keeps him together. Marmora keeps him together. Keith is keeping together, and day by day, the threads grow stronger. He wishes he could tell his father that, just to let him know, to put his mind at ease. The closest Keith ever feels to doing so is by reading the words his father left him, and replying to them in kind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He memorized the contents of this letter very soon after Shiro gave it to him, after it was plucked from Lotor’s desk where it had been so long secreted away. Keith keeps it close to himself now, always on his person, where it belongs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It reads:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>My beloved son,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This is the hardest letter I have ever had to write. Even now, I find myself tempted to set down the pen and go no further. No father should ever have to tell his child, his only child, what I am about to tell you. But it must be done, for Keith, I fear you are in terrible danger, as am I. It is too late for me, but not for you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Please forgive me for my vagueness. There are things — about your mother and her family, but also about you, and about myself, and about where the Blackwood fortune’s origin lies — that I should have told you long ago, but did not. I kept them from you because I thought I was protecting you, but I was wrong to do it. Beware the Sinclairs, but trust those who call themselves Marmora and bear the blade. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can only hope that this letter will reach you, and A will find you, and K, and all will be made clear. In the event that this letter does not reach you, I can say no more. I’m sorry. I fear I’ve said too much already.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But you are not alone, my son. In addition to the aforementioned others, I will be sending an alpha to Blackwood Manor. His name is Takashi Shirogane, and I think — I hope — you will like him. I met him here, on the front. The alphas here are a rough sort, Keith. War brings out the worst in us all. But Shirogane has a good heart. I have sent him a letter, also. In it, I said he was not a good man, but might be a good alpha, and for his sake, I hoped he was. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now, near as I am to the end of things, I would amend that letter if I could. He is a good man and a good alpha. I’m not sure he knows he is either, and I am not good with people. Maybe you will help him see that, hm? I wouldn’t be so bold as to play matchmaker — I send him as your companion and guardian, not as a fiancé — however, between you and I, son, you have my blessing. Only should you find him worthy, of course. Legacies are fine and all, but I would wish that you wed for love first and foremost, son. A fanciful thought, maybe. But I wish that, for you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The one you may wed may not be of noble blood, but neither are we Blackwoods. They may not have wealth, but wealth is a fleeting thing, my son, and though the path to happiness can be paved far more easily with its aid, wealth alone will not fill your heart and soul. Remember this. My hope for you is that you do not simply survive, but live, Keith. I know that in my attempts to protect you, I may have done you other harms in shielding you from the world. But you are brave, clever, and worthy of respect, and you must not let the world tell you otherwise. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It is the hardest thing I have ever done to leave you, Keith, and it is not by choice. I would never leave you if I had any say in the matter. But death comes for me swiftly, under the sigil of that damned black rose, and all I can do now is to ward it away from you, too, by what little means I have to do so. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know if Shirogane and the others will be enough. I hope so. With every part of my being, I hope so. I don’t want you to be alone. Even when I am gone, I will be with you, my son. That is a promise. I will find a way, don’t you worry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you, Keith, very much. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With all of my heart,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Your father.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Keith writes his reply, as he always does, in the little leather journal that Shiro gave him before they left Blackwood Manor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this?” Keith had asked him, turning over the pretty black book in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a massive alpha who could frighten off others with a mere look, Shiro could be remarkably, adorably bashful around Keith. “For your drawings,” Shiro had said, “and...writings, maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith had raised an eyebrow. “Writings? Like a diary?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you like,” Shiro said, looking more nervous by the second. “Or letters – I just thought, maybe, you could make use of it. When I was...ah. In Crimea I had a journal, and I found it...helpful to write down the goings on, and my thoughts, when everything around me was so strange and...loud.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith had held the journal a bit tighter. “Do you think Marmora will be like that? Like Crimea, like the war?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Shiro had hurried to say, “no, not like the war – but it will be different from here, and there will be things you want to remember, and other things you don’t know how to remember, but know you have to write them down, and –” He stopped himself with a rueful smile. “Perhaps that’s just me, I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to remember this,” Keith had told him, stepping closer. “Whatever happens, I do. I’ll write. And draw. It will be quite nice to be able to draw you in all sorts of compromising positions – I’ve been practicing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyebrows had shot up. “The drawings, or the compromising positions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You devil,” Keith had cackled, the journal pressed between them as they kissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith had held onto it tightly ever since. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His letters to his father are short. Keith was never very good at writing letters. But he writes the things he wishes he could tell his father – like how beautiful the sunrises are across the steppe, how Shiro took to the art of Marmoran dancing with startling and delightful ease, how Krolia still speaks of Keith’s father with a longing obvious to everyone listening, touching the silvered mark at her throat like a talisman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith isn’t really certain if he’s writing for his father, or for himself. He just knows that each letter he finishes leaves his heart a little lighter, so he keeps writing them. It won’t be long before he fills this journal. Shiro has already joked about getting him a new one, but he says it in a way that is proud and pleased, because although he doesn’t know all the things that Keith scribbles into his journal, he knows that they make Keith smile and sigh with much-needed relief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someday, Keith thinks he would like to show Shiro the journal’s contents. Shiro doesn’t ask to see, nor does he ever pry, but Keith doesn’t miss the bright curiosity in his eyes. He imagines tucking himself to Shiro’s side on a balcony in the capital, looking up at the glittering spill of stars and reading the letters aloud to the night. A ghost might find them, or they will be lost to the sky, but either way, they will be words shared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This letter is even shorter than usual. He writes about his dreams, and he asks his father what he dreamed about, if those dreams were ever good, if they were ever peaceful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he writes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you are dreaming now, forevermore. I know that sounds like the fairytales you used to read me, but I think it is a nice thing to imagine. Here in Marmora, Krolia says the dead join the stars. It must be so quiet up there. Sleep must come so easily. I hope it does.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the letter is done, he turns back to the first half of the journal and begins to sketch on a new page. All of the pages previous are filled with Shiro, mostly. This sketch is of his face, but in the middle of it, his subject stirs, disrupting the static pencil lines as he yawns and rolls over towards Keith. His left arm reaches out over the furs, hand falling upon Keith’s knee. His sleepy gaze finds the journal in Keith’s lap, and he smiles. It’s a beautiful sight, made all the more beautiful by the fact that Keith gets to see it every morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’re you doing?” Shiro mumbles, closing his eyes again and nuzzling into the furs. He’s grown lazy in the mornings, and Keith will never fault him for it, no matter how many times Kolivan grouches about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Admiring you,” Keith replies, closing the journal and setting it aside along with the rest of his belt as he unbuckles the thick leather and crawls back into the nest with Shiro. He wriggles in close, until Shiro’s arm settles heavy and secure around him, and his face is blessedly buried in warm pectorals and flustered alpha scent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keith,” Shiro whines, nosing into his hair, “have mercy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never,” Keith promises, kissing the soft place beneath his jaw, rewarded by Shiro’s shiver. “How did you sleep?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shiro sighs. “Good,” he says. “I dreamt of you, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” Keith’s heart beats faster and he smiles against Shiro’s neck, against the mark there which mirrors his own. The bite is smaller – though just as sharp. “And what did you dream of me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shiro’s scent softens, suddenly shy. “It’s foolish,” he murmurs, “but – we were making bread together. Like the first time you visited the farm, and I helped you, but this time...it was a different kitchen, a different kind of bread, and it felt like...ours. You were laughing. It was...it was good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ours,” Keith repeats, and closes his eyes with a little hum, smile growing. “I’m glad, Shiro.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t sound terribly boring to you?” Shiro asks, petting his hair in slow, soothing strokes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Keith admits. “I don’t think anything could be boring, with you,” he adds, his own scent blurring with bashfulness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm,” Shiro says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Keith echoes, his smile now impossible to contain, hidden though it is against Shiro’s skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shiro is quiet for a while, and then he says, “I love you,” the way he always does, gentle and measured as if each word is precious. He says it this way whether they are in the heat of battle, in the throes of each other’s pleasure, or in the soft intimacy of moments like these.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith thinks about his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands covered in flour and bread dough, struggling to make the damn dough obey his palms as gray eyes linger on him from the kitchen table. He remembers the way the sunshine made Shiro all aglow, an oil painting in the flesh, resplendent in color but also in vivid scent, rich bergamot rendering the myriad smells of the kitchen utterly unimportant. Shiro’s voice floats to him then as it does now, firm and kind, settling and refusing to be dislodged, though Keith has never actually tried to dislodge it. He’s never wanted to, never even considered it, and he’s not about to start now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keith squeezes Shiro’s hand, the cool luxite of their matching rings chiming in the morning hush, a sweet sound of joined things. “I love you too,” he whispers, the words catching in his throat with the tastes of bread and bergamot and summertime. “Very, very much.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THANK YOU FOR READING &lt;3 all of your comments, kudos, and support mean the world, and I'm so happy to share this absolutely sappy lil conclusion with you all. This AU has been in the works for....years....so it's honestly such a relief to have finally ACTUALLY WRITTEN IT. what a concept. my fellow writers out there i know u get me. writing hard. but fun. </p>
<p>anyway, Shiro &amp; Keith live happily ever after and whatever comes next (domestic bliss? family?? taking down empires???) I leave up to you to imagine, go wild :p If you like my sheiths, and might also be interested in the original fiction I've been cooking up lately, you can find, follow, &amp; support me at <a href="https://twitter.com/eledritch">@eledritch (formerly @saltyshiro) on twitter.</a> &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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